Page 130 of Stream Heat
Reid stepped closer, not quite blocking but definitely reminding me that I could always call it off. “You don’t owe us this, Kara.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why it matters.”
That seemed to satisfy him. Jace and Theo watched, saying nothing, but I could feel their support. Malik looked at me like he was already running calculations on how this shifted the whole dynamic.
Ash’s hand at the small of my back was heavy, grounding. He guided me out of the kitchen, not rough or hurried, just inexorable.
One of Ash’s workshops sat at the far end of the house in what was probably a garage at some point and I knew that he had a secondary one in the basement as well. This one was a fortress built from workbenches, scattered tools, and half-finished projects. Nothing in there was accidental. Every wire, every label, every circuit board had a purpose.
He closed the door with a solid finality. No going back now.
“You built all this?” I asked, letting my hand drift over a custom cooling tube.
“I need to know my tools,” he said, turning the locks. “I don’t trust what I can’t take apart and understand.”
He wasn’t talking about gadgets anymore. He was talking about me.
“Is that why you watch me so closely?” I asked.
He didn’t flinch. “I notice things others miss. You act like you’re not scared, but I know different. You flinch at compliments but never at competence. You crave stability, but you’ll bite anyone who tries to give it to you.”
It was the kind of precision that should have made me tense. Instead, it was a relief.
“I’m done fighting,” I replied, jaw tight.
He studied me for a long moment. “You’re still fighting. Right now. Trying to prove something.”
He was right, of course. I always was.
He didn’t wait for me to drop the shield. “This isn’t going to happen in your nest. Not in some public room. I take you in my space, with my rules.”
It should have felt like a threat. Instead, it was freedom from having to pretend.
“What rules?” I asked.
“Don’t lie. Don’t dial it down. Don’t mimic something you think I want. I want the real you,” he said, looming over me. “No performance.”
This was what complete acceptance sounded like.
“I can handle that.”
He cupped my face, big hands gentler than I expected. “Good. Because I’ve been waiting months to break you down and hear you scream my name.”
His mouth slammed into mine, nothing like Jace’s quiet affection or Theo’s wild, off-balance energy. This was direct, unyielding. He tasted like smoke and something darker. There was no hesitation; he’d mapped out every move in his head, and now he was executing it.
I melted into him, letting my hands dig into his back. This was the connection I wanted, a current, not a comfort. When he finally let go, both of us were breathing rough.
“Tell me what you want from my bond.”
He could have just taken. But he was asking. Even now, right at the edge.
I answered honestly, because that was his rule. “I want to know that broken doesn’t mean worthless.
That what happened to me doesn’t disqualify me. That my damage isn’t a liability.”
He said, “You think I want to fix you.”
Don’t you? I almost said it, but instead I toned it down to, “Isn’t that your thing?”
