Chapter 10: The Things He Shouldn't Want
They found shelter in a closed-down roadside motel.
One room was unlocked.
One bed.
One flickering lamp.
Rafe checked every corner, every window, every possible entry before finally locking the door.
Only then did the tension loosen from his shoulders.
Isla stood near the door, arms wrapped around herself, wet clothes clinging to her skin.
"You said you wouldn't lie to me," she said softly.
He turned.
"I won't."
"Then tell me why they're hunting me."
Rafe hesitated.
That frightened her more than the gunshot had.
"They believe certain bloodlines can open things that should stay closed," he said. "Places. Forces. Knowledge. Power."
She swallowed. "And they think I'm one of those bloodlines."
"They think you're the last."
The words landed heavy.
"My mother?" Isla asked.
Rafe nodded.
"She hid you. Changed your name. Broke every rule she came from to make sure you'd never be found."
Isla's chest ached. "She died scared."
"Yes."
"And now I'm living scared."
He crossed the room slowly.
"You're living," he corrected. "That matters."
She laughed weakly. "It doesn't feel like it."
He stopped a step away.
Close enough that she felt his warmth.
Too close to pretend she didn't.
"What aren't you telling me?" she asked.
His jaw tightened.
"That being near you is… a mistake."
Her heart stumbled.
"Because of the hunters?"
"Because of me."
Silence stretched.
Then she asked the question she hadn't planned to ask.
"What are you afraid of?"
His voice dropped. "Wanting you."
The air shifted.
Her breath caught.
"That's not something to be afraid of," she whispered.
"It is," he said. "Because I was trained to watch you. Study you. Get close."
Her chest tightened.
"And did you?"
"Yes."
"Then why am I still free?"
He lifted his hand, stopping inches from her face—didn't touch.
"Because somewhere between watching you breathe and listening to you laugh and seeing the way you refuse to break…" His voice roughened. "You stopped being a mission."
She took a small step closer.
"And what did I become?"
Something dark and honest moved through his eyes.
"A weakness."
"A craving."
"The one thing I'm not allowed to want."
Her pulse roared.
"Rafe…"
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he was no longer running.
He was standing still.
Choosing.
"If I touch you," he said, "nothing in my life stays the same."
Her voice barely held. "Then don't touch me."
He didn't.
She did.
Her fingers closed in his jacket.
And he broke.
He pulled her into him, slow at first, then firm—forehead resting against hers, breath tangled, bodies aligned.
Not a kiss.
Something more dangerous.
Something that said stay.
Something that said mine.
Outside, thunder rolled.
Inside, Isla finally understood:
This wasn't just attraction.
It was the beginning of something forbidden.