Chapter 89: Miller's Meat Processing Plant
The cold here was different.
Not like the clean bite of winter wind, or the fleeting chill of snowflakes melting on skin. This was industrial cold — mechanical and sterile. The kind that settled into the marrow and whispered of places long abandoned, of time halted and left to rot beneath fluorescent flickers and rusted steel.
Aria stepped inside, breath fogging in thin swirls before vanishing into the frost - laced air. Her coat felt inadequate the second the meat locker swallowed her, and even her gloves — thick and lined — did little to keep her fingers from curling instinctively inward. Her pulse ticked a little faster. This place felt more mausoleum than freezer.
Behind her, the reinforced door groaned shut, sealing them in with a hydraulic hiss that echoed through the metal bones of the room.
Selene was the last to enter.
Of course she was.
She didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't show the slightest discomfort. She might as well have been born in this kind of chill. No fogged breath, no tremble in her step. Just that same unshakable stillness, a sculpture come to life. Her ice affinity didn't just protect her from the cold — it made her part of it.
Aria's heart fluttered traitorously.
They'd been too close lately. Too many shared fires, too many silences that stretched into meaning. Selene's gaze lingered longer than it should, her words pressed into Aria's skin like thumbprints. And Aria, foolish and confused, found herself leaning in. Wanting. Needing.
Even now, she felt it — that pull. That gravity.
Selene didn't need to touch her. Not when just standing nearby made Aria feel like she was being unraveled.
"Be quick," Selene said, her voice low and smooth. "We don't know how long we'll have."
Aria nodded, too fast, too eager to break the tension that had begun to throb just under her skin. She summoned her dimensional pocket with a flick of her fingers, the magic peeling open space with a violet shimmer. It yawned into being like a wound in the air — soft - edged and waiting.
The void beyond was warmer than the locker.
She moved, grateful for the distraction. Crates lined the walls, rows upon rows of vacuum - packed meat and frostbitten inventory. The place smelled faintly of iron and age. Her fingers worked quickly, lifting, sorting, storing. Prime rib. Sirloin. Brisket. Tenderloin. The motions were familiar, comforting in their rhythm.
But Selene was behind her. Watching.
Not just overseeing. Observing.
Studying.
Aria's fingertips hovered over a crate of veal. She hesitated, breath catching, and Selene moved closer. Not a full step, just a shift — barely perceptible. But Aria felt it.
She always felt her.
The air seemed to bend around Selene, a colder kind of pressure that wrapped around Aria's shoulders like a net of snow - laced silk. Her stomach tightened. She could feel her thighs press closer without conscious thought, trying to dissipate the heat rising low in her belly.
It wasn't from the freezer.
And it terrified her.
Because this was different. This wasn't just nerves or awkward attraction. This was a hunger she didn't understand, a heat that curled in on itself and left her breath short and her body too aware. Even her fingers tingled when they brushed over the same icy shelf Selene had touched.
"You're slow when you're distracted."
The words slipped against her ear like silk.
Aria flinched, blood rushing to her cheeks. "I'm not distracted."
A pause. Then a hum — quiet, indulgent.
"Of course not."
Damn her.
Aria turned her face away, eyes narrowing as she yanked open the next drawer. Poultry. Hens, smoked turkey thighs, cured ham in tight plastic wrap. She forced her hands to move faster, throwing meat into the void with tense precision. Anything to focus. Anything to bury the pressure growing at the base of her spine.
But it didn't help.
Every time Selene moved behind her, it set off a tremor in her skin. Every slow breath, every glance that brushed too close to Aria's jaw — it all built, layered, swirled into a storm.
She wanted to scream. To cry. To beg for space — or more.
"You're warm," Selene murmured, voice impossibly close. "Unusual. In a place like this."
Aria didn't turn. Couldn't.
"I'm not cold," she managed, her voice thin. Weak.
"No," Selene replied. Her tone dipped lower, almost thoughtful. "You're not."
They moved into the next aisle.
The space was narrower, the racks taller, crates stacked with game meat and rarities. Aria had to lift heavier bins now, balancing them with both magic and strength. Her breath grew shorter. Her scarf chafed her throat. Every brush of fabric against her chest made her twitch.
And still Selene loomed.
A constant pressure. A glacier at her back. Silent. Patient.
Aria cursed under her breath and adjusted her stance — but it only made it worse. The ache between her thighs pulsed now, unmistakable. Her skin was hypersensitive. Even the condensation on her collarbone felt sharp, electric. She bit her lip.
What was wrong with her?
Selene reached around her this time, arm brushing her shoulder as she examined a crate. "Deer sausage," she murmured, voice low, breath teasing Aria's cheek. "Gamey. Rich. Acquired taste."
Aria turned sharply, her breath catching. "Are you planning to critique everything?"
Selene smiled — a slow, glacial thing. "Only the things that interest me."
She stepped away like nothing had happened.
Aria was left standing there, flushed and aching, heart hammering against her ribs.
She hated this. Hated that she couldn't control it. Hated the way Selene wove around her with that careful, calculated precision, like a predator circling a trembling creature that hadn't yet decided whether to run or collapse.
Worse, she hated how much of her wanted to collapse.
Her hands trembled slightly as she finished. Boar ribs. Rattlesnake medallions. Rabbit thighs. The rarer the meat, the more surreal the task became. Her fingers moved automatically, but her thoughts were chaos.
She could feel the wetness now.
Not enough to shame her. Not yet. But enough that she knew Selene would sense it. She always sensed everything.
"You're very warm now," Selene said again, her voice velvety.
Aria didn't look at her. "We've been working. That's all."
"Of course."
The smirk in her voice made Aria want to throw something.
Instead, she shoved the last crate into the dimensional space and sealed it with a flick. The rift closed like a curtain, seamless and soft. It was done. They were done.
Except they weren't.
Not really.
Selene turned toward the exit, her boots echoing softly against the icy concrete. Aria followed, slower, heavier. She hated how her breath still came uneven. How her thighs still ached. How her heart beat with a rhythm that didn't belong to fear or fatigue.
At the threshold, she paused.
"We got everything," she said, too softly.
Selene's gaze flicked back to her.
"No," she said.
Aria frowned. "What?"
Selene leaned in.
Her voice was cold fire. "Not everything."
And then she turned — coat trailing behind her like a whisper of storm — and stepped out into the light.
Aria stood there, stunned.
Her skin prickled. Her mouth was dry. And that ache, that terrible, beautiful ache in her belly — it surged. Maddening. Unrelenting.
Because now she understood.
Now there was no pretending it away.
Selene hadn't even touched her.
And still, Aria's body was singing with need. Not simple want. Not lust alone. It was deeper. Sharper. Like something inside her had been claimed without consent — something she hadn't known she'd been hiding.
She stepped into the gray light, legs shaky, heat curling through her with every step.
Selene didn't look back.
But her smirk — small and quiet — was unmistakable.
And Aria?
Aria was already falling. Just like before.
Only this time, she knew it.