DOMINIC POV
I watched him leave.
Watched the tension in his shoulders, the way his fists clenched at his sides. Every instinct in me told me to go after him, but I didn't. Not this time.
Because I already knew the truth.
Ashen could run. He could push. He could lie to himself all he wanted.
But I had felt it.
The way he melted against me. The way his breath hitched, his body responded—how he clung to me like he needed it, even if he refused to admit it.
I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders before grabbing my shirt off the bike.
Ryker stood at the entrance of the garage, arms crossed, watching me like he had way too much to say.
I gave him a look. "What?"
His mouth twitched. "So… how was patrol?"
I huffed out a low laugh, shaking my head. "Shut up."
Ryker grinned, falling into step beside me as I headed inside. "I gotta say, you've got patience, man. If it were me, I would've thrown him over my shoulder by now."
I shot him a look. "Which is why it's not you."
He snorted. "Fair."
I ran a hand through my hair, my smirk fading slightly. "He's stubborn."
"That's an understatement."
I sighed. "But he'll come around."
Ryker arched a brow. "You sound pretty damn confident."
I smirked. "That's because I am."
Because Ashen felt it, whether he wanted to or not.
And no matter how hard he fought it—
He was mine.
He just wasn't ready to admit it yet.
But that was fine.
I could wait.
The next few days were a test of patience.
Ashen avoided me like the damn plague.
At meals, he sat at the far end of the table, shoulders tight, eyes locked on his plate. During training, he barely acknowledged me, focusing on drills with an intensity that was almost forced. And when we crossed paths in the halls, he would turn the other way before I could even get a word in.
It would've been funny if it wasn't so infuriating.
Ryker, of course, found the whole thing hilarious.
"He's actually running from you," he mused one afternoon, leaning against the wall of my office with a shit-eating grin.
I didn't look up from the reports in front of me. "He's not running."
Ryker hummed. "Oh, right. He's just… aggressively walking in the opposite direction every time you're near."
I sighed, setting down my pen and pinching the bridge of my nose. "He just needs time."
"To do what? Convince himself he doesn't want you?" Ryker chuckled. "Because, news flash,he sucks at it."
I smirked slightly. Yeah, he does.
Even in his avoidance, I saw it.
The way his breath hitched when I was close. The way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for me but forced himself not to.
Ashen could play this game all he wanted.
But I wasn't backing down.
I leaned back in my chair, considering my next move. "You think he'll break first?"
Ryker grinned. "Oh, no doubt. But if you really want to speed things up…" He waggled his brows. "Give him a little push."
I arched a brow. "What kind of push?"
Ryker's smirk widened. "Jealousy's a hell of a motivator."
I was heading toward the training grounds when I caught sight of Ashen slipping out of the packhouse. He moved quietly, like he didn't want to be seen. His hood was up, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his shoulders tense.
Interesting.
I changed course, following him at a distance. He didn't take the usual paths,he cut through the trees instead, his pace steady, purposeful. I stayed back, silent, watching as he made his way toward the clearing near the lake.
He stopped at the water's edge.
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the surface, the moonlight casting his sharp features in silver.
I stepped forward. "Couldn't stay away?"
Ashen stiffened.
Slowly, he turned, his gaze guarded. "Are you following me now?"
I smirked, stepping closer. "You've been avoiding me."
He scoffed, looking away. "I've been busy."
"Bullshit." I moved until I was right in front of him. "You've been running."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it.
I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. "Ashen—"
"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.
"Tough. We're talking."
His gaze snapped to mine, sharp and burning. "There's nothing to talk about. It was a mistake."
I clenched my jaw. "You don't believe that."
He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Doesn't matter what I believe."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why? Because you're afraid?"
Ashen's breath hitched,so quick, so subtle that I almost missed it. But I felt it.
That crack in his defenses.
"I'm not afraid," he muttered.
"Then look at me." My voice dropped lower, rougher. "Tell me you don't want it."
Silence.
His hands curled into fists.
I took another step, closing the last of the distance between us. "Say it, Ashen."
His breath was uneven now, his pulse thrumming in his throat. I could see the war in his eyes,the fight.
And for the first time… he didn't turn away.
He held my gaze.
And didn't say a damn word.
His silence was all the answer I needed.
Ashen's breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fists clenching like he was holding himself together by a thread. But he wasn't running.
Not this time.
I reached out slowly, giving him the chance to stop me. He didn't.
My fingers brushed against his wrist—just a light touch, nothing forceful. But I felt the way he shuddered, how his pulse kicked beneath my fingertips.
"Ashen." My voice was low, steady. "You don't have to fight this."
His jaw tensed. "I'm not—"
I took his hand.
He froze.
I could feel it—the way his entire body locked up, his breath caught in his throat. But he didn't pull away.
I lifted his hand slowly, pressing his palm against my chest, right over my heart. Letting him feel it. The steady, unshaken rhythm.
His fingers twitched.
"You're scared," I murmured. "Not of me. Not even of this." My other hand came up, brushing against his jaw. "You're scared because it makes you want."
A sharp inhale. His nails dug into my skin, like he was trying to anchor himself.
"It's okay to want, Ashen." I leaned in slightly, just enough that our breaths mingled. "It's okay to want me."
His throat bobbed.
For a second, I thought he might finally give in.
But then his eyes darkened, something fierce flashing behind them, and he ripped away.
"No," he rasped, stumbling back. His breathing was sharp, ragged. His hands curled into fists.
"Ashen—"
"This can't happen," he snapped.
My patience thinned. "Why the hell not?"
"Because if I let myself want this—" His voice broke off. His chest was heaving, his entire body shaking.
My heart clenched.
He turned away sharply, shoving a hand through his hair, his breathing coming too fast. He was unraveling.
And for the first time, I realized—
It wasn't just me he was fighting.
It was himself.
I exhaled slowly. "Ashen."
He didn't turn around.
I took a step forward, but I didn't reach for him this time. "I don't care how long it takes. I'm not going anywhere."
Silence.
His head dipped slightly, but he didn't respond.
Then, without another word, he disappeared into the trees.
And I let him go.
For now.