After a battle gone wrong, Zoey and Mystery are forced to hide out in a safehouse. Only one bed. Only one heartbeat. And the fire they've been holding back?
Yeah... it finally snaps.
The safehouse was old. Cracked walls. One flickering light. Rain smacked against the tin roof like a warning.
Zoey dropped onto the worn mattress, adrenaline still thrumming in her blood.
The mission was a disaster.
They barely made it out alive.
She had a graze across her ribs. Mystery had claw marks on his arm.
And the worst part?
One. Single. Bed.
Because of course.
Mystery stood at the edge of the room, breathing hard, hand clenched around the sink. His jacket had been shredded. His hair stuck to his forehead. There was blood drying on his neck.
Zoey should've been resting.
But her pulse was racing, and it had nothing to do with demons anymore.
"You're bleeding again," she said, voice lower than usual.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
She stood and walked to him. Slowly. Deliberately.
He wouldn't look at her.
When she reached up to touch the edge of his wound, he flinched—not from pain.
From her.
"You're shaking," she whispered. "Why?"
His jaw clenched.
"You know why."
Silence crackled between them. Thunder rolled outside.
Zoey's fingers curled around his shirt. "Say it."
"Don't," he said, voice rough. "If I start—"
She pressed closer.
Heart to heart.
Fire to fire.
"Then don't stop."
And that's when he snapped.
Mystery's hands found her waist like he'd been starving for the feel of her.
His lips crashed into hers with years of tension, longing, and danger all behind it.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't delicate.
It was need.
Zoey gasped against his mouth, fingers threading into his hair, tugging.
He groaned.
"You don't know what you do to me," he murmured, kissing down her jaw. "You undo me."
"Then let me," she whispered, lips brushing his throat.
They stumbled back toward the bed, never breaking contact.
He picked her up without effort, laying her down with reverence and desperation all at once.
The room was spinning. Her skin was burning. His weight over her was everything she never knew she needed.
"You're not dreaming," he said against her collarbone.
She arched toward him.
"Good," she breathed. "Because if this is a dream, I'm never waking up."
Clothes half-shed. Lips bruised. Marks already forming on his skin.
But there was no rush. No regret.
Just electricity.
And love hidden in every sharp inhale. Every trembling kiss. Every whispered name.
Because this wasn't just about want.
It was about choosing each other when everything else told them not to.
Later, when the storm outside calmed and their hearts finally slowed, Zoey traced the mark on his chest with sleepy fingers.
"I always knew you'd be fire," she said softly.
He kissed the top of her head.
"And I always knew you'd survive it."
Not just a spark.
Not just a crush.
They were the whole damn wildfire.
And they chose to burn. 🔥