Page 35 of The Reckoning
“Thank you,” I say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. The muscle beneath my fingers is tense, coiled with restrained emotion.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away from my touch. “We don’t know if it’s going to be a miracle or a disaster.”
“At least it will be something,” I concede. “In my mind, it’s the only way forward that doesn’t end with one of you killing the other.”
Aries’s gaze flicks to Arson, who’s watching our exchange with calculated interest. Something unspoken passes between them—not quite understanding, but perhaps the beginning of areluctant truce. The moment stretches, taut with possibilities, before Aries breaks it by turning back to me, this time with more urgency, more intent.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out startled, shaky from the sudden shift, my body jolted into his arms.
“Taking you to the bathroom,” Aries says, his voice dropping low, rough with intent. It’s the kind of tone that seeps beneath skin, curling hot and dangerous in my stomach. “I want to wash his scent off you before I have you.”
The possession in that statement makes my heart clench inside my chest. How long have I waited for Aries to show me this side of him? Desire pulses between my thighs. Something deep and primal answers to his authority, to the sheer force of his will.
He carries me with ease, every step purposeful, his grip branding me as his. When we reach the bathroom threshold, he turns—his stare locking with Arson’s. The air between them bristles, thick with unspoken challenge.
“You can watch from the doorway,” Aries says, tone hard as steel. “Hell, join if you want to, but I’m fucking her first.”
I don’t know what to say in response to that, and it appears Arson doesn’t, either. He falters for a moment before his composure cracks, just enough for me to catch a flicker beneath—the sharp edge of jealousy, followed by the darker lick of desire. It’s a layered and complicated emotion, something that makes my pulse stumble.
“You can take her first, just remember who it was that she came tofirst.”
The dig is calculated, surgical, and it hits its mark. Aries tenses, his whole body vibrating with fury, a growl rumbling up from deep in his chest. I feel it echo through my ribs, through my blood, through every place we’re pressed together.
Before the fury detonates, I slide my hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at me, not his brother. “Don’t,” I whisper, softer than I intend but no less urgent. “Don’t give him what he wants. Not now. Not when you finally have me.”
The war in his eyes nearly breaks me—rage and rivalry clashing against years of buried hunger. For a breathless heartbeat, I don’t know which side will win. Then, with a sharp exhale, Aries claims his choice. He strides into the bathroom and kicks the door shut so hard the slam ricochets off the tiles, reverberating like a declaration of war.
He sets me down on the counter, his hands already at my shirt, rough and demanding. His gaze devours me whole—dark, dilated, dangerous.
His fingers drag beneath fabric, callouses catching on my skin as if mapping territory that was always meant to be his. It’s nothing like Arson’s precise, taunting control. Aries is raw need made flesh—reckless, unrestrained, a wildfire finally set free.
“Do you have any idea,” he rasps, lips grazing the hollow of my throat, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”
I arch for him, my breath trembling. “Then why did you keep pushing me away?”
He stills, forehead pressed hard against my collarbone, like it takes everything in him not to shatter. His voice breaks low, threaded with honesty that feels ripped from his chest. “Because I was terrified. Because wanting you meant more than it should have. More than I could afford.”
The admission slices through me, raw and unguarded. For once, the weight in his voice is heavier than the lust. And then—the door opens again.
Arson enters without hesitation, all coiled grace and watchful fire. He leans against the wall, arms folded, but the blaze in his eyes betrays him.
“The deal was both of us,” he says evenly. The words hang heavy, a challenge wrapped in inevitability.
Aries stiffens, his grip tightening at my waist as though he could anchor me, claim me, keep me from slipping away to his brother. His jaw flexes, his body torn between refusal and surrender. Then his eyes—dark, frantic, searching—lock to mine.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, so low it’s meant only for me, like a plea wrapped in command.
My answer is wordless. I reach for the hem of my shirt and strip it away in one fluid movement. The fabric falls to the floor with a soft whisper, but the silence after is deafening.
Aries inhales sharply, ragged, as though I’ve just ripped the last thread of his restraint apart. His eyes drag over me, darkening into something dangerous, something starving.
Behind him, Arson shifts, his composure unraveling, desire cracking through the mask. His jaw tightens, the fire in his eyes no longer hidden. The air thickens—charged, volatile, dripping with possibility. And for the first time since this storm began, I feel the balance tilt. Not toward Aries. Not toward Arson. But toward me.
Their hunger, their rivalry, their restraint—every ounce of it circles back to me. And as Aries’s rough hands slide up my bare sides while Arson watches with eyes that burn, I realize with startling clarity: This is my moment. My power. My choice.
And I’ve never felt more alive.
ELEVEN
