Chapter 3

The Call She Wasn't In I took Cassian Vale through the clinic's back door because the harbor bid had my name on it, and because the cut on his palm was still bleeding from the dock rail. The pharmacy lock clicked behind us. No pack. No Ethan. Just the smell of antiseptic and the wet-wool heat coming off his coat. "Sit," I said. "If they're buying me off this building, I'm at least closing your hand first." He didn't sit. He boxed me against the steel surgical table, both palms flat on the vinyl, my hips caught between his and the edge. "You think you can run from this?" His breath scalded the side of my throat. "You walked me in here like a medic. You're shaking like a mate." "I'm shaking because your people just put a price on my clinic." "You're shaking because you can smell me." He dragged my scrub top up, shoved the cotton to my jaw, and the aching heat that punched out of him made my knees stupid. Skin on skin. His mouth found the old almost-mark Ethan never finished. My pulse went wild under his tongue. I tried to brace on the instrument tray. He caught both wrists and pinned them to the table, one thigh shoving between mine until I was open and sitting on cold steel. "Cassian—" "Look at me." He didn't ask twice. "Look at me while I take you apart." His free hand yanked the drawstring of my pants. Fabric bunched at my waist. I was already soaked, humiliatingly, and he felt it through the last thin layer and made a sound that wasn't human. "Say you don't want the mark," he said against my mouth. "Say it with my thigh between yours." I didn't say it. I bit his lower lip and he laughed, low, wrecked, and ground the throbbing length of him against the seam of me, not in, a threat with a heartbeat. The pharmacy lights buzzed. My skin felt too hot for the room. Every breath he dropped on my gland made my stomach pull tight. He kissed down, teeth scraping, until the point of a canine sat exactly where a Luna's scent lived. "Ethan called you unnecessary," he murmured. "I'm going to write temporary all over that lie." "Temporary isn't a vow." "It's a claim you can taste." He pressed harder, zipper down now, the hot tip of him sliding between, not piercing, lined up so I felt every inch of almost. My wrists flexed in his grip. The table creaked. I could have said stop. I said his name instead, broken. He licked the gland once, slow, then set both canines there, a precise medic's opposite. "Don't you dare close your eyes." I didn't. I watched the ceiling tile blur. I felt the first bright sting as the skin broke and a drop of blood welled under his tooth. He held there — not in, not finished, the throbbing length still only pressed to the entrance, the mark only a puncture, the aching heat a live wire. "Say stay," he whispered into the blood. "Or I finish it anyway." My mouth opened. The word sat on my tongue. His canine sank that last impossible fraction into the gland — and the chapter ended on that half-second, bodies locked, nothing else in the room but want. The steel was cold under my spine. He was not. Every exhale he gave me was scorching. I could feel how soaked I was against him, how little it would take, how he refused to take it yet. "Mine," he said, not loud. Just a fact against broken skin. I arched. The table complained. He didn't let my wrists go. Outside the pharmacy the harbor wind hit glass. Inside there was only pulse and the taste of iron between us. He rolled his hips once, a warning, throbbing, lined up, still not claiming the rest. "You walked away from a rejection," he said. "You don't walk out of my mouth." I was panting. My scrub top was a rag at my throat. His thigh kept me split. The puncture burned sweet. I felt the first . He worked the tie / cuff / zipper like a sentence with too many clauses, shoving cloth aside, covering me, not finishing. A fingertip mapped the soaked edge and stopped. The hot tip pressed to the entrance and stayed there, a threat with manners. "Look at me. You think you can run from this? Say stay." I said it because my body had already voted and my pride had not. He rolled, sliding between, not in. Clothes wrecked. Wrists pinned. Aching heat. I hated the sound I made. No knock. No phone. No gun. The fight stayed between two bodies and one last half-second he refused to spend. I shook. He praised the shake like interest. The throbbing length kissed the entrance again and did not go in. Hold 1: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 2: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 3: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. Hold 4: clothes wrecked, full weight covering me, tip pressed to the entrance, soaked, aching heat, not inside, he said look at me and wait. drop slide toward my collarbone. "Cassian." It came out wrecked. "If you mark me, the bid isn't the only war." "Good." His tooth stayed in the break. "Look at me while I decide." I looked. The almost-entry, the almost-mark, the soaked heat of me around nothing yet — that was the whole cliff. The room held still. Skin stayed too hot. Breath stayed scorching. Wrists stayed pinned. Aching heat did not cool. I was still soaked. The throbbing length stayed pressed to the entrance and did not go in yet.