ANGEL'S POV
I barely had a moment to breathe.
One second, the campfire was warm and lively, filled with chatter, laughter, and the steady crackle of burning wood. The next, King's hand clamped around my wrist.Firm, scorching, unyielding and the world blurred as he dragged me away from everyone.
"King!" I whispered, stumbling, almost tripping over my own feet.
"Quiet," he ordered, not looking back. His stride was all storm and purpose.
The murmurs around the fire dimmed; Lisa's face turned pale, and Kelly mouthed a dramatic, "good luck."
Even the soldiers stationed near the command tent stiffened, sensing the storm in him.
My wrist throbbed under his grip.Not painfully, but with a strange, electric awareness that made my heart hammer. We didn't stop until we reached a shadowed spot between the supply shed and an equipment trailer, hidden from the campfire's glow. Only the moon lit his face—sharp, furious, breathtaking. Then he turned, closing the space between us.
"Give me your arm," he said. It wasn't a request.
I swallowed hard. "I said it's fine—"
"Angel." His voice dropped lower, darker. "Now."
My stomach flipped. I lifted my arm. He hissed softly at the faint bruise near my elbow, blooming from my earlier stumble. His jaw clenched, muscle ticking as his fingers brushed the mark. I sucked in a sharp breath—not because it hurt, but because he touched me.
His gaze snapped up. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," I whispered.
For a long moment, we simply stood there—his fingers resting lightly on my skin, both of us painfully aware of how close we were. Then his voice cut the silence, rough and raw.
"Who did this?"
I blinked. "I told you,I slipped."
"Angel." His tone dropped even lower. "I'm asking you one more time."
"It was an accident," I said, stepping back but he mirrored my movement, closing the space again, like gravity or fate demanded it.
I was pressed lightly against the metal wall of the trailer, his hand still on my arm, heat radiating from him in waves.
"You scared me," I blurted before I could stop myself.
He froze. The world froze with us.
"You scared me, Angel," he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes burning in a way I couldn't read.
"I didn't mean to…"
"Stop it." His grip tightened slightly, grounding me. "Stop pretending you're fine. Stop acting like I don't…"
He cut himself off, jaw flexing hard. I searched his face, heart hammering.
"King?"
He exhaled shakily, like fighting himself. "You should've been with the group. Safe. But instead… you were out there alone, at night, driving roads you have no experience on."
"I can take care of myself."
"No." The word was harsh, final. "Not out there. Not in the dark. Not on broken roads."
"I'm not a child."
"Then stop acting like one."
Heat flared in my chest. Anger, embarrassment, something deeper I couldn't name. I shoved lightly at his chest. He didn't budge. His eyes darkened.
"Angel… I can't talk to you any other way."
My breath caught. What did that even mean?
"I came," I whispered. "I still showed up."
"And nearly got yourself killed doing it."
"I didn't…"
"You could have," he snapped. "Stranded. Attacked. The car could've…" His hand went through his hair—a rare sign he was losing control. Then he stepped closer, the air between us thick with tension.
"I don't know what I would've done," he murmured, quiet but lethal, "if something happened to you."
"You… care?" I whispered.
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The answer was in the gentle brush of his fingers on my bruise, the way he breathed too hard, the way he towered over me, shielding me from the world without hesitation.
"You can let go now," I whispered.
"No," he said simply.
My spine tingled.
"King…"
"I said no."
His fingers wrapped around my wrist again, firm but not painful. "If I let go, you'll run."
"I won't run."
"You already have. You've been avoiding the house."
"I had exams."
"And excuses," he added, eyes searching mine, dark and hungry.
"So what if I avoided you? You make everything confusing."
His breath hitched, a silent acknowledgment of the effect I had on him. He leaned in, voice low. "Good. You confuse me too."
The world narrowed. His hand braced beside my head, caging me. Heat wrapped around me like a second skin.
"This is wrong," he murmured.
"You know that, right?"
"Yes," I whispered.
He lowered his head, forehead nearly touching mine. "Tell me to stop."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
"Angel," he whispered again, voice breaking on my name. "Tell me to let go."
I wanted to. I should have. But instead… I whispered, "I don't want you to."
His eyes snapped open. Everything inside him fractured. He grabbed my chin gently, tilting my face up—not kissing, not touching my lips, just holding me there, staring as if I were the only thing he'd ever wanted but couldn't have.
"Angel," he said, rough with longing and restraint, "you have no idea what you're doing to me."
A shiver tore through me.
Then—
A voice called from the distance. "King? We need you at the command tent!"
We froze. His eyes never left mine, heavy with unspoken promises.
"I have to go," he said finally, voice low, rough. Exhaling slowly, as though breathing cost him everything, he released my wrist.
The heat lingered, marking me. He stepped back once… twice… each step controlled, unwilling yet necessary.
Then he stopped. Voice dark, deliberate, a threat wrapped in desire:
"This isn't over."
He didn't wait for me to respond. He didn't give me room to breathe. He turned, walked into the night, broad shoulders cutting through shadows, leaving me—breathless, shaking, undone, painfully aware… that whatever "this" was between us? It had only just begun.