Chapter 142: Bleeding Into The Next
Suddenly, she moved, wrapping her arms tightly around him, her body acting on impulse before her mind could catch up.
For a moment, Lyle froze, as if surprised by her sudden gesture. But then, instinctively, his arms circled her waist, pulling her closer. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he were afraid she might pull away. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent washed over him, warm and faintly sweet, and something inside him shifted. A calmness he hadn’t felt in years seeped into his very core, soothing the restless chaos that usually roared within him.
It was as if she were a missing piece he hadn’t known he was searching for—something that tethered him, made him feel whole, grounded, and human in a way he had long forgotten. He tightened his hold, his fingers pressing gently into her sides, a silent plea to keep her there just a little longer.
For Ephyra, realization struck like a lightning bolt. What the hell was she doing? She hadn’t meant to hug him—or anyone, for that matter. Her first instinct was to pull back, to scold herself for such a reckless act. But then she felt it—the steady rhythm of his heart, the warmth of his arms around her, and the way his broad frame pressed against her own.
Something stirred inside her, something she hadn’t felt in so long she almost didn’t recognize it. An ache, a longing, an unfamiliar urge that both frightened and intrigued her. But an urge for what? To stay in his arms? To push him away? To trust him? She didn’t know, and a part of her didn’t want to find out.
Her mind raced, wanting to curse herself for letting this happen. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought bitterly. But even as the thought passed through her mind, she found herself unable to break the embrace.
Lyle, on the other hand, held her as if letting go wasn’t an option. His touch wasn’t demanding or forceful, but it radiated a quiet possessiveness that made it clear he wouldn’t extricate himself unless she pushed him away. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, and didn’t try to explain the moment.
Ephyra’s chest tightened, her body warring with itself. A voice in her head screamed at her to stop—to put distance between them before she got pulled deeper into something she wasn’t ready for. Yet another voice whispered to stay, to allow herself this moment of vulnerability.
What the hell is happening to me?
The question repeated in her mind, over and over, as her arms remained locked around him, refusing to let go.