Chapter <i>45 </i>
ATASHA’S POV
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“Why didn’t you stop them from eating it?” I snapped the moment the door shut behind us. The dining hall was now two corridors behind us, and the silence in the guest room felt almost suffocating inparison. “My-“I paused, catching myself, breath short. “Your men. You could’ve warned them.”
Cassian didn’t respond.
He walked calmly toward the wide table by the window, removed his cloak, and tossed it over the back of a chair like he hadn’t just consumed a potentially lethal meal. He looked almost amused, which only made my jaw clench harder.
I stood near the door, arms rigid at my sides, watching him as he poured himself a ss of water from the decanter on the table. He took a sip, then turned slightly, that same smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He wasn’t worried.
That infuriated me.
I marched across the room toward him, stopping just a few feet away. “It’s a slow–acting poison,” I said tightly. “There are no early symptoms. But it’ll start soon, weakness, dyed healing. You know what that means, don’t you?”
Of course, he did.
I didn’t even need to say it.
If anyone were ambushed tonight, or even tomorrow, they wouldn’t heal fast enough to survive it. And he knew that. He had probably known it before I even tasted the food.
I shook my head, trying <i>to </i>keep my voice even. “Remove your shirt,” I said, stepping forward. “I need to heal you before the damage spreads further.”
Still, he didn’t move.
His gaze dropped to mine. Then that damn smirk deepened. “You’ve changed,” he said, the
tone too casual to be innocent.
I froze. My heart skipped.
“What?” I asked, confused, caught off guard by the shift in tone.
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“You’re starting to sound like a wife,” he added, almost teasing. “Nagging. Sharp andmanding.”
My eyes widened. I flinched back slightly. Damn it. I was nagging!
The realization sank into my stomach like a stone. I immediately dropped my gaze, embarrassed. “I wasn’t-”
He moved.
I didn’t even hear his footsteps, but suddenly he was in front of me. One hand came up, and his fingers brushed beneath my chin. Gently, but firmly, he tilted my head up.
“Don’t look away when I’m talking to you,” he said.
His voice cut straight through me.
I tried to breathe, but the heat radiating from him made my thoughts blur.
His fingers stayed under my chin, holding me there, forcing me to meet his eyes. They weren’t cold like earlier. They weren’t even smug. Just… intense. I swallowed.
His gaze lingered on my mouth a second too long. I knew what that kind of look meant.
The space between us was shrinking with every breath. My skin prickled, but I didn’t step back.
I didn’t dare.
“Remove your shirt,” I repeated, quieter this time.
I wasn’t sure if I said it for him… or for myself.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, his gaze dropped to my lips, and before I could react or process what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against mine. It was just a kiss, brief, almost hesitant, and over in seconds. But the contact sent a jolt through me strong enough to steal the air from my Jungs.
My eyes flew open, and I froze, not because I was afraid… but because I didn’t see iting.
It wasn’t rough or demanding. It wasn’t like thest time he kissed me in front of everyone to assert control. No. This one was different. It was almost like he was testing me.
And it worked.
My throat tightened, and I stood there, too stunned to move.
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He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, the corner of his mouth curling into the barest smirk. He didn’t say a word.
I swallowed, hard. My skin felt warmer than it should have. Goddess, I must be blushing!
This man, the same one who had once grabbed me by the throat and nearly ended my life, was now standing inches from me, unarmed, half smiling, andpletely in control of the air between us.
Was this the same Lord Cassian who had dragged me into this political farce?
Was this still the war–hardened killer who looked at me like I was disposable when we first met?
I didn’t recognize him in that moment.
After what felt like forever, he suddenly stepped back, just enough to put a sliver of distance between us. Then he lifted both of his arms slightly, palms open at his sides, posture rxed and unbothered.
“Will you do the honor?” he asked, his tone smooth and dry, like he already knew I would.
My breath caught, but I didn’t say anything.
Instead, I stepped closer.
My fingers moved to the front of his coat, unsping the fastenings one by one. The thick fabric slid off his shoulders without resistance, and I folded it carefully, setting it on the edge of the table. Then, without breaking the silence, I reached for the hem of his tunic.
He continued watching me.
My hands paused for the briefest moment, hovering at the edge of his tunic, before I finally gripped the fabric and pulled it upward, exposing his chest inch by inch. The sharp lines of muscle, the lingering warmth of his skin, and the faded scars etched across it came into view, each one a reminder of the life he’d lived before this moment.
I’d seen him shirtless before, back at the carriage, when I was healing him. I had seen him shirtless during the worst of the fighting, when survival left no room for modesty. But this time felt different, and I knew it the moment my fingers brushed against his skin.
It wasn’t the first time I saw him like this.
But it was the first time I touched him with care, not urgency.
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It wasn’t because I wanted to, I told myself again, forcing the thought to stick. I was here to heal him, nothing more. This wasn’t personal. It wasn’t about feelings or curiosity or anything else I didn’t want to name.
I kept telling myself that as I pressed my palm t against his chest.
It was warm beneath my hand. Solid. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath the skin as if the poison hadn’t touched him yet. But I knew it had. I could feel the disruption in the flow beneath my touch, something subtle but present, like a snag in thread. It hadn’t reached full effect yet, but when it did, it would slow his healing. Maybe even stop it entirely.
My gaze dropped to the scars scattered across his chest. Some were jagged, others clean. Old wounds that hadn’t vanished despite the elerated healing of werewolves. Scars that told stories I hadn’t heard yet.
Normally, scars faded within days for a wolf. But Cassian’s body wore them like armor. Proof that he’d survived things no one else had.
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“The poison was designed to slow down your healing. It’s not supposed to show visible symptoms,” I said, thinking it through. That only left two possibilities. Either they weren’t nning to attack tonight and were waiting for the right moment to ambush uster, or this was just the beginning, and they intended to give us more poison in small amounts over time to avoid being caught by Physician Mendez. Maybe it’s both.
“I killed my first bride,” Cassian said suddenly. “She was born and raised in this pack.” He looked at me. “Can you really me them for wanting to retaliate?”
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