Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him—Cade's breath on her skin, his mouth on hers, the taste of wildfire and need that still lingered on her lips.
She hated it.
She wanted it again.
By sunrise, she'd made coffee so strong it could qualify as poison and spread the contents of the file across the rickety safehouse table.
Cade stepped in, shirtless, damp towel slung over his shoulder, the wolfish half-smirk in place like he knew exactly what kind of storm he was walking into.
"You're gonna burn a hole in that paper," he said.
"I already did," she replied flatly, lifting her mug. "This is round two."
He grabbed a mug, sat across from her, quiet for a beat.
"So what's the plan?"
Willa tapped a report—one labeled Lang Project: Trial Group 12A.
"They tracked me for years. There's a lab listed here in North Carolina—shuttered, supposedly cleared out. I want to see it."
"It's a trap."
"Probably."
"You're going anyway."
She nodded once. "They owe me answers."
Cade leaned forward, arms on the table. "And what happens if you find out something you don't want to know?"
"Then I'll burn the whole place to the ground."
He smiled, but there was steel under it. "I'll bring the matches."
Sadie shuffled in moments later, wrapped in a blanket and drinking straight from the whiskey bottle like it was orange juice. "Y'all are real intense in the mornings. Can't you just rage against the system after breakfast?"
"We're heading to North Carolina," Willa said.
Sadie blinked. "For revenge or recon?"
"Yes," Cade answered.
Sadie sighed, dropping into a chair. "Let me guess. You're dragging me along because I'm the only one with working plates, black market contacts, and a fake ID that says I'm a retired rodeo clown."
Willa arched a brow. "You… are?"
"No," Sadie muttered. "But they think I am."
Willa stacked the files, sharp and final. "We leave in an hour."
She didn't look at Cade as she brushed past him to pack.
But he followed her to the hall.
"You're shutting down again," he said quietly.
"I'm focusing."
He blocked the doorway before she could move past. "You kissed me back last night."
"Don't."
"You did."
Willa's glare could've melted iron. "It was a mistake."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Then why are you still thinking about it?"
She shoved him back, hard—but he didn't budge.
"Because you make it hard to think," she hissed.
"Good," he said. "Thinking's overrated."
She almost slapped him.
Almost kissed him again, too.
But instead, she shoved her bag over her shoulder and stormed out—leaving Cade in the hall, grinning like a wolf who knew his prey would come back eventually.
Sadie insisted on taking the wheel again, something about "driver's privilege" and "my ride, my rules." Willa didn't argue. She took the front seat beside her this time, leaving Cade to brood in the back with his long legs and his unreadable expression.
But he didn't brood.
Not exactly.
He watched her.
The way her jaw clenched every time Sadie made a flirty comment. The way her fingers drummed against her thigh like she was rehearsing murder. The way she leaned into the window when she was trying not to look at him.
And then there was Sadie—full of grins and trouble, elbow on the window as she glanced over.
"So," she said brightly, "what's the plan? We storm a long-abandoned lab with nothing but silver blades and sexual tension?"
Willa's sigh was deadly. "You're not funny."
"Oh, I am," Sadie shot back. "You just don't like when I say things out loud that you're trying really hard to repress."
Cade chuckled.
Willa didn't.
Sadie went on. "Just so I'm clear—are you two hooking up and trying to hide it, or not hooking up and trying to pretend it's not eating you alive?"
"Sadie," Cade warned.
"What?" she said, all innocence. "She almost gutted me when I flirted with you. If you're not together, I'd like to know how much danger I'm in."
Willa turned her head, eyes sharp. "Keep talking and you'll find out."
Sadie howled with laughter.
"Ohhh, girl," she grinned. "You're already halfway mated and too damn stubborn to admit it."
Cade watched Willa closely, wondering if she'd snap again.
She didn't.
But she didn't look away, either.
"You think you know me?" Willa asked, voice low.
"I know your type," Sadie said. "Tough girl, trauma-stamped, scarred and sarcastic to hide the fact you're dying to let someone in. But only if he earns it the hard way."
Willa blinked. Once.
Then turned to Cade. "She always talk this much?"
"No," he said. "You bring out the best in her."
Willa rolled her eyes and turned back to the road.
But her jaw was tighter now. Her grip on the seatbelt white-knuckled. And Cade?
He knew the signs.
She was cracking—not breaking, not yet, but close. Her control was splintering with every mile, every look, every breath that reminded her just how badly she wanted something she wasn't allowed to have.
And he wasn't going to push.
Not yet.
Because the next time she kissed him, she wouldn't stop.
And she knew it.
The lab sat like a dead thing in the forest.
Vines choked the metal siding. The air reeked of ozone and mold, and the only sign it had ever housed life was the warped gate clinging to its last hinge.
Willa crouched at the tree line, her pulse drumming.
Sadie scanned the perimeter through a scope. "No movement. No heat signatures. Either it's truly abandoned…"
"Or whatever's inside isn't alive," Cade finished.
Willa's mouth was dry. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger.
"This place feels wrong," she muttered.
Cade stepped up behind her. "You don't have to go in alone."
"I'm not alone," she snapped.
"Could've fooled me. You've spent every mile of this trip acting like it's just you against the world."
"Maybe because it is."
"You're not a lone wolf, Willa."
"I'm not a wolf at all."
Cade's voice dropped. "No, but you're mine."
The air cracked between them.
Willa whirled, shoving him back a step. "Don't. You don't get to say things like that."
"Why not?" Cade asked, fire in his eyes now. "Because it's true?"
"Because I'm still supposed to bring you in!"
"Then do it!" he snapped. "You've had a dozen chances. You've drawn that blade more times than I can count—so if you're really gonna drag me back to the bastards who made you their weapon, do it."
Her blade was out, pressed against his chest, trembling.
"I should," she whispered.
"But you won't."
The knife clattered to the leaves.
She hated him.
God, she hated how he made her feel like she wasn't just blood and mission and orders. How he saw her. How he wanted her.
He stepped in, chest brushing hers, heat radiating off him like a furnace.
"No one's ever touched you like I want to, have they?"
"Stop."
"I'll stop when you stop pretending."
His hand slid to her waist. Her breath caught.
"You don't want me," she whispered.
He leaned in, lips brushing her jaw. "No, Willa. I burn for you."
And then she kissed him.
No hesitation.
No more pretending.
Their mouths crashed together in a kiss too hot to survive, too rough to be anything but real. She yanked his shirt, he gripped her hips like he could anchor them both, and for a heartbeat—there was nothing but teeth, breath, want.
Then she pulled away—panting, wild, furious.
"I still hate you," she said.
"Good," he growled, pulling her back in. "Then we're even."