CHAPTER 94: AFTER THE STORM

Josie

At first, I didn’t understand what he meant.

I blinked, confused, watching his expression shift — and then it hit me. Oh. He was referring to sex.

My cheeks instantly flushed. My entire body felt like it had caught fire, heat crawling up from my neck to the tips of my ears. I turned away from him quickly, trying to hide the flaming red of my face. My fingers twisted together at my sides, awkward and unsure. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Why did he always manage to fluster me like this?

Behind me, I heard him sigh — the heavy, exasperated kind, like he was just barely holding himself together. The bed creaked lightly as he shifted, and I glanced over my shoulder before I could stop myself.

He was naked.

Well — mostly naked. He was pulling up his pants, and I caught a glimpse of his abs, the sharp lines of muscle that looked like they were chiseled from stone. My throat suddenly went dry. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I looked away just as quickly, as if burned, cheeks burning even hotter. My breath hitched, my body doing things I didn’t quite understand or know how to handle.

"I should go," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. It still came out a little breathless.

"No," he said flatly, without hesitation.

My eyes snapped back up at that. I frowned. "You told me to leave, remember?" I folded my arms over my chest, trying to pretend that I wasn’t affected, that I wasn’t seconds away from combusting. "You were practically shoving me out the door a few moments ago."

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t just been ice-cold to me minutes ago. "I’ll walk you to your room."

"I don’t need help," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I stepped past him, determined to ignore the sudden shift in his attitude.

But of course, the moment I turned, he moved again — flexing like a damn model, and I swear it was on purpose. His toned torso moved as he reached for something, muscles tightening, the sharp V-line of his hips disappearing under the waistband of his pants. My traitorous gaze flicked back down before I could stop it.

Damn it.

"Do you just love being this difficult?" he asked with a small, amused shake of his head. There was that glint again — that lazy arrogance that somehow made my blood boil and pulse race at the same time. "Sometimes I honestly don’t understand you."

I turned on him fast, my voice tight. "Me? You’re the one who’s impossible! You say one thing and do another. You haven’t even forgiven me. You just—" I choked, biting down hard on my bottom lip to stop the rest from tumbling out. "You’re planning to get rid of me, aren’t you? That’s why you said all that crap earlier. You just wanted to shut me up."

His face didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He just gave me one of his signature shrugs, that infuriatingly calm look on his face. "You can think whatever you want."

My blood boiled. My fists clenched at my sides. "Ugh!" I half-screamed, stomping toward the door. "You’re insufferable!"

I grabbed the doorknob, yanked it — and then gasped as my back suddenly slammed into the door instead.

Varen was right in front of me.

One second he’d been across the room, and the next he was there, so close I could barely breathe. His eyes bored into mine, molten with something I couldn’t name — anger, heat, frustration... desire. Burning and unreadable.

And then, without a single word, he leaned in and kissed me — long, hard, and breath-stealing.

My entire body jolted in shock. My mind went completely blank. My hands instinctively flew up, gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the bare skin. His mouth devoured mine like he was trying to make a point, like he was branding me with it, and against my will, my body responded.

The way his lips moved over mine was demanding, possessive. I could barely breathe. My heart pounded so loudly I swore he could hear it.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathless.

"You might be fake with your thanks and apologies," he said lowly, his voice like gravel, "but I mean everything I say."

My mouth parted slightly, heart still slamming against my ribs. "I wasn’t trying to be fake," I whispered. "I really am sorry."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes — softness, maybe, or something close to understanding — before it vanished just as quickly. He gave me that half-smirk I hated but secretly found ridiculously attractive.

"You didn’t think I was siding with Thorne, did you?"

I searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he might be joking. For once, I found humor there. The tension that had been twisting in my gut began to slowly unravel, like a knot loosening with every breath.

"I did," I admitted softly, dropping my gaze for a second before meeting his eyes again. "At first, it really seemed that way. And I was upset — really upset. But then I realized... you were in a tough spot too. And I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to understand."

He gave a single nod, stiff and reluctant, almost like it cost him something to say nothing at all. "It’s fine. You need to go back to your room now, though," he added dryly, his tone laced with something darker. "Because this heat — it’s turning me on."

My face flamed.

"Varen!" I squeaked, slapping a hand over my mouth in sheer mortification.

He chuckled. Actually chuckled. The sound was low and rich, and for a split second, I forgot all the anger, the confusion, the heartbreak. He leaned in again, this time gentler, and gave me a quick peck on the lips that still managed to leave me dizzy.

"Come on," he said. "Let’s go."

We stepped out together. The hallway was quiet, shadows stretching long across the floor from the windows, the light outside tinged in golden orange. Late evening. Everything was hushed, like the whole world had taken a breath and held it.

As we walked side by side, our hands brushed — barely, just the faintest whisper of contact — but enough to send tiny shocks up my arm, tingling under my skin.

And then the main door burst open.

The loud crash echoed through the hall like thunder. My heart jumped violently in my chest. Varen stopped beside me, immediately tense.

Thorne stormed in, his shirt torn, knuckles bloodied, and his expression — Gods — it was terrifying. Wild and broken and furious, like he’d walked straight out of a nightmare.

"Thorne?" I breathed, barely able to get the name out.

He looked like hell. His hair was a mess, eyes bloodshot and burning with rage. His jaw was clenched so tightly I thought he might shatter his own teeth.

I rushed toward him without thinking. "What happened—?"

But he shoved me back with a snarl, his voice slicing through the air like a whip.

"This is all your fucking fault!"

I stumbled backward, caught myself on the wall, heart skipping a beat. "What—?"

"Don’t you dare come near me!" he shouted, voice raw and ragged with something close to pain. "Stay the fuck away from me, Josie!"

My mouth opened — but no words came out. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. My legs felt rooted to the floor, heavy as stone, and all I could do was stare at the wreck of the boy I once thought I knew.

And wonder, in absolute horror, what in the world I had done.