Cassidy wisely slips out, muttering something about coffee. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with Gage. What follows is a weighted hush that swells until it feels like a third presence in the room, pressing close and demanding to be acknowledged.
“You’re volatile,” he says finally. “Your senses are spiking, your instincts are wild, and you don’t know how to handle them yet.”
A jagged laugh slips past my lips. “Thanks for the pep talk. It really made me feel better.”
“It’s not a pep talk, and it's not my job to make you feel better. It’s reality.” He steps closer, slow enough to feel deliberate, predatory. “You need to learn control. And until you have it, you need someone who won’t hesitate to stop you or step in when you put yourself in danger.”
“Let me guess,” I bite out. “That someone is you.”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile, more like a challenge. “You catch on quick.”
Heat gathers in my veins and spikes, and I take a step back before I can stop myself. His eyes track the movement, satisfaction smoldering there. Damn him.
“You keep talking about protection, but you’re wasting resources,” I snap. “This penthouse has three exposed angles anyone with a rifle could exploit. If I mapped sightlines and monitored the feeds, at least I’d be doing something useful.”
His reply is cool, all steel. “What you call useful is exactly what exposes amateurs to crossfire. A sightline is also a kill zone.You think you are planning defense, but all you are doing is giving a shooter a timetable.”
The words land heavily, too close to the truth. A band of pressure tightens around my chest, making each breath difficult and shallow. I shove the fear down and replace it with fire.
“Maybe I’d rather face the bullets than sit here waiting like bait.”
He shakes his head, a low sound escaping him. “You are your sister's sister. You're reckless. Exactly what I expected.”
“And you?” I tilt my head, glaring at him sweetly. “You’re exactly what I expected too. A control freak with a savior complex.”
His eyes flash. The answer comes too fast, too sharp. “Better a control freak than a corpse.”
The retort burns deeper than I want to admit. My wolf—God, I can feel her—rises against his dominance, a raw growl vibrating inside me until every nerve feels stretched thin. A shiver works its way down my arms, jagged with the urge to strike back. I force a breath into my lungs, shaky and uneven, trying to control the beast clawing for release, but it bucks harder, wild and unbroken.
We circle each other like combatants, trading barbs in place of blows. My head aches from the sensory overload, every sound from below drilling into me, the rumble of traffic, the muted grind of the elevator cables, even the ticking of the thermostat. All of it piles on until I want to scream, but I refuse to let him see how much it rattles me. If he thinks I’m weak, he’ll push harder.
He studies me for a long moment. “You’re not afraid of me.”
“Should I be?” I ask.
A slow smile touches his lips. “Most people are.”
“Well,” I say, lifting my chin, “lucky for me and unfortunately for you, I’m not most people.”
The tension between us stretches, humming through the room with dangerous energy. My pulse stutters, warmth flooding in a rush I can’t disguise. His gaze narrows, catching each slip in my composure. He notices, and the edge of his mouth curves, savoring my falter like a predator tasting first blood. The awareness in his eyes makes my stomach tighten, heat spreading through me in a way that feels both threatening and inviting.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, “and I’ll start to think you like having me around.”
I snort. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just haven’t decided if you’re part of the solution or part of the problem.”
“Why not both?”
The air grows dense, heavy enough that each breath feels like an effort. A tremor runs through me when his gaze dips to my mouth before climbing back to meet my eyes, the intensity of it holding me fast as if the room itself has narrowed down to only him and me.
I turn away, breaking the spell. “Don’t get comfortable, Ranger. You’re only temporary.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But until I’m gone, you follow my lead.”
“Keep dreaming.”
Time drags until it feels stretched thin. He stalks me through the penthouse like a shadow that never lifts, his presence brushing against me no matter where I turn. Each step I take, each breath I draw, I feel the weight of him there. The steady grind of his watchfulness wears at me, fraying my patience, yet beneath my irritation stirs a dangerous pull I refuse to put words to.
The hours bleed together until hunger finally drags me to the table. Cassidy and Rush have slipped out, leaving the penthouse to just Gage and me, and their absence makes the tension in the room climb higher. The silence between us has settled intosomething taut, like a thread stretched to snapping. He watches every move I make, a silent wall of focus that makes even the simplest action feel like a performance. By the time food is set out, I’m almost grateful for the distraction, though his eyes never soften.
