Chapter 5 No.5

The moment the elevator doors closed, isolating Cassandra from the security team and the basement, the adrenaline abandoned her.

Her vision blurred. The floor seemed to tilt violently to the left.

Her grip on the wheelchair controller slipped. Her head lolled forward, her chin hitting her chest.

Before she could slump out of the chair, an arm, hard as iron, hooked under her knees and another around her back. Kade. He had moved with the speed of a striking cobra.

Cassandra slumped against him, her head falling onto his chest. Through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, she felt the solid wall of muscle and the heat radiating from him. It was overwhelming.

"I've got you," he grunted, his voice vibrating through his chest against her ear.

She didn't push him away. She couldn't. Instead, her hand instinctively clutched his lapel, bunching the expensive fabric. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice faint. "Dizzy."

Kade went rigid. For five years, her touch had been a recoil, a slap, or a push. Now, she was clinging to him like he was the only anchor in a storm.

He didn't speak. He lifted her effortlessly out of the chair. The "princess carry" felt cliché, but in his arms, it felt like being carried by a fortress.

He walked down the hall to the master bedroom. He kicked the door open and carried her to the massive bed, laying her down with a surprising gentleness. He treated her like she was made of spun glass.

He frowned, his brows knitting together as he took her wrist, checking her pulse. His thumb pressed against her skin, calloused and warm.

"You pushed too hard," he muttered, more to himself than her. "You're still recovering."

He turned to the nightstand, poured a glass of water, and held it to her lips. She drank obediently, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Sleep," he commanded, his voice losing its sharp edge.

He turned to leave.

Cassandra's hand shot out. Her pinky finger hooked around his.

"Don't go," she murmured, the exhaustion slurring her words. "Just... sit. Please."

Kade froze. He looked down at their joined hands. Her finger was small, pale, wrapped around his scarred, large one. It was a tether he hadn't expected.

He let out a long, ragged breath. He pulled a heavy armchair from the corner, dragging it to the bedside. He sat down in the shadows, watching her.

"I'm here," he said gruffly.

Cassandra drifted off. It was the deepest sleep she had had in two lifetimes. She felt safe.

But the subconscious is a cruel director.

Hours later, deep in REM sleep, the memories of the warehouse resurfaced. The needle. The betrayal.

Cassandra tossed on the bed, her brow furrowed in distress.

"Dillon..." she moaned in her sleep, her voice filled with pain. "I'll kill you..."

But her face was buried in the pillow. The words were muffled.

Sitting in the dark, Kade heard only one word.

Dillon.

The air in the room froze. The tentative warmth that had built up over the last few hours shattered like ice.

Kade stood up. The chair screeched against the floor.

He stared down at her. He thought the slap, the dog, the cruelty-it was all a show. A performance to make him lower his guard. In her dreams, where the truth lived, she was still calling for him.

The pain hit him like a physical blow to the gut, followed instantly by the shield of anger.

Cassandra jolted awake at the sound of the chair. She blinked blearily into the darkness, seeing Kade's silhouette looming over her. The vibe was wrong. It was hostile again.

"Kade?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. He turned and walked out of the room, his stride long and angry. The door slammed shut with a finality that shook the walls.

Cassandra reached out into the empty air. She realized with a sinking heart that she must have talked in her sleep.

She fell back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

"Damn it," she hissed.

She didn't cry. Crying wouldn't fix this. Only blood would. Tomorrow, she would have to burn the rest of the world down to prove whose side she was on.