Page 24 of Claimed By the Damned
But it's impossible to ignore the raw, physical pull. The soft press of her. The heat of her skin seeping into mine. A dangerous craving I shouldn’t allow. A vulnerability inmeI cannot afford.
Clench my jaw.Shove the thoughts down. Focus. Not the time. But the truth gnaws—I want her. Badly. Can't keep pretending otherwise. Not forever.
A ragged breath shudders through her as she melts against my chest. Her arms are trapped between us—will she hold on or push away? She doesn't push me away.
I draw her closer, wrapping one arm around her back to anchor her against me. My other hand slides gently up to cradle the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her damp hair as I urge her to relax, letting her feel safe. Her body shakes. Each inhale still uneven. But she’s here. Not running. Not trapped in the memory. Not anymore.
Her scent, warm, slightly sweet, mixed with the salt of her skin—wraps around me. Grounding me as much as I ground her. Feel every quiver, every tremor running through her as she slowly, painstakingly, pulls herself back.
Her breath, once sharp, ragged, evens out. Slow, shaky inhales against my collarbone. Each exhale still unsteady, but carrying something different. Reluctance giving way to the smallest hint of trust. Allowing herself, just for a moment, to believe. Safe. No more fighting.
Then, finally. A whisper.
“…Thank you.”
Chest tightens. The words cut deeper than expected. Two syllables. Heavy with plea, a confession. A quiet surrender she likely doesn't even realize.
I say nothing. Just hold her closer. My lips brush the crown of her head. A silent promise I can't yet articulate.
Not a kiss. But it carries weight. A quiet claim. An understanding too fragile for words. Her warmth, her breath finally steadying—it signals a shift. An undeniable beginning. I’m not built for this. Not meant to let anyone in. Yet, as her body relaxes, matching my rhythm, there’s no turning back. A line is crossed.
Her fingers twitch against my chest. Hesitate. Then let go completely. Breaths slow, calming. The weight of her trust—heavy. I didn't plan this. Becoming something to her. But here I am. I remain there, holding her. Feeling her warmth. Finally still.
Lila's dangerous. Not a physical threat. A threat to my control. She makes me feel things I lock away. Things I don’t want to name. The way she fits against me. Her trust is sacred, breakable. I'm not ready. I can't let go.
She sighs softly. Last remnants of tension dissipate. I should move. Put distance between us. Maintain the lines. But I stay. Holding onto her warmth as much as she seems to need mine. Control feels… different right now. A precarious balance.
Time slips away. Minutes bleed together. Her breathing stays deep, even. Asleep. Truly asleep now. My own eyes feel heavy. The adrenaline crash leaves behind a bone-deep weariness. Just for a moment, I let my guard drop, resting my head back against the headboard, her weight a surprising comfort against me.
A few hours later, a soft knock sounds at the door. My eyes snap open. Instantly alert. Ethan.
Lila stirs slightly against me, a soft murmur escaping her lips.
Ethan knocks again, louder this time. "Bas? Lila? Dinner's almost ready."
Right. Dinner. Need to re-establish normalcy. Carefully, I shift, easing away from Lila. She mumbles a protest in her sleep, reaching blindly for the warmth. My gut clenches. She's too attached, too fast.
Gently touching her shoulder, I speak softly but firmly. "Lila. Wake up now."
Her eyes flutter open, blinking slowly. Confusion clouds them first, then she remembers and there is no fear this time. Just weariness. She looks up at me, silent.
"Ethan's said dinner is ready," I tell her, keeping my voice even. Back in control. "Go take a shower. Freshen up. Meet us in the dining room in fifteen." A clear instruction. She needs routine, needs structure.
She pushes herself up slowly, running a hand through her tangled hair. Her gaze lingers on me for a fraction of a second – searching? Questioning? Then she nods, a simple, quiet acceptance. Relief mixes with something sharper, responsibility. She slides off the bed without a word and heads towards the ensuite bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.
The moment the latch clicks, my phone vibrates silently in my pocket. Caller ID blocked. Standard.
I rise from the bed, straightening my clothes, deliberately compartmentalizing the last few hours. I need to be sharp now. I step into the hallway, moving towards the stairs as I answer. "Cross."
The same clipped, familiar voice. "Activity picked up. Mikhailov's network. They're shaking trees harder than usual."
My hand tightens on the railing. "Specifics?"
"Chatter about LA. Something's got them on edge. Word is he's putting serious pressure on anyone who might know something about his missing wife. Along with some unexpected movement among his associates."
Kolya. The threat is tangible. In our nearest major city. Fuck. "Keep monitoring. I want updates the second anything shifts."
"Understood."
