Page 6 of Wraith’s Betrayal

"We can't," he said, but his head lowered toward mine.

"I know," I whispered.

Our mouths were a breath apart. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the war in his eyes—want versus loyalty, need versus honor. His thumb moved on my arm, just the smallest stroke, but it made me shiver. The towel slipped more. Another inch and I'd be exposed completely.

"Fuck," he breathed, and I felt the word against my lips.

Then his phone rang.

Blade's ringtone shattered everything.

Wraith jerked back like he'd been electrocuted, releasing me so fast I stumbled. The towel started to fall. His hand shot out, catching it, holding it in place even as he turned away to grab his phone.

"Yeah?" His voice came out wrecked. He cleared his throat hard. "No, everything's fine. She's fine. Just watching TV." A pause while my brother said something. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Later."

He hung up, shoulders rigid with tension, still not looking at me even though his hand still held my towel in place, knuckles white with the effort of not moving.

"Blade says goodnight." His voice was carefully neutral. "Wanted to make sure you were settling in okay."

The reminder of my brother, of exactly why this couldn't happen, felt like ice water on overheated skin. I clutched the towel, and he finally let go, stepping back.

"I should⁠—"

"Yeah."

I fled to my room, closing the door and leaning against it, whole body shaking. Through the thin walls, I heard him moving, then his bedroom door closing with decisive finality.

But I couldn't sleep. The bed was comfortable enough, but every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on my arms. Saw the raw hunger in his eyes before he'd shut it down. My body hummed with frustrated energy.

After an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up. Maybe some water would help. Or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to leave my room, to see if he was as affected as I was.

The living room was dark except for the TV's glow. Wraith sat on the couch, beer in hand, watching some military documentary with the volume low. He'd changed into sleep pants and nothing else, all those military tattoos on display. An eagle across his shoulder blade. Dates in Roman numerals along his ribs—probably fallen brothers.

"Can't sleep either?" He didn't look away from the screen.

"No." I moved closer, hovering near the couch. "Mind if I..."

He shifted over—not much in the small space, but enough for me to sit. Except sitting meant our thighs touched. The heat of his skin burned through my thin sleep shorts.

"This is probably a bad idea," he said quietly.

"Probably."

But neither of us moved. We sat there, thighs pressed together, pretending to watch TV while the air grew thicker with every breath. His hand rested on his thigh, inches from mine. I could see the scars on his knuckles, the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting not to reach for me.

"Tell me about the Army," I said, needing to fill the dangerous silence.

"Not much to tell."

"Liar."

That earned me a glance, quick and heated. "Intelligence work, interrupted by moments of terror. Made good brothers, lost some too."

"Is that how you met Blade?"

"VA hospital bar in Billings. Both of us trying to drown different demons." His thumb moved on his thigh, a restless gesture. "Got in a fight, ended up in lockup together. Viper found us there, offered us purpose."

"And now you're brothers."