Bound by Bloodline

CHAPTER 2

Day 1 – 6:18 p.m.

The fire finally caught.

Cassian had spent the last four hours splitting logs in the sub-basement with an axe older than both of them, shirt off, sweat freezing on his skin the second it beaded. Every swing had been a promise: survive this house, survive her, take the money and disappear forever.

He carried the last armload upstairs, boots leaving wet prints on the runner. The corridor was already colder; the ancient heating system groaned like it resented being awake.

Inside the master bedroom the temperature had climbed to barely tolerable. One lamp glowed on the dresser. Evie sat cross-legged on the bed in black leggings and an oversized black cashmere sweater (his sweater, stolen from his duffel while he was gone). Sleeves pushed up, hair in a messy knot, reading a leather-bound estate ledger like it was the Bible.

She didn’t look up when he dumped the wood beside the hearth.

“Power’s on a timer,” she said. “Generator only runs twelve hours a day starting tomorrow. After that we burn what we chop.”

He crouched, stacked logs, struck a match. The flames licked up fast.

“Find anything useful in Daddy’s diary?” he asked.

“Plenty.” She turned a page. “There’s a fully stocked gun vault behind the library panel. Code is my mother’s birthday. There’s also a crematorium in the east wing that still works.”

Cassian barked a humorless laugh. “Cheerful bedtime reading.”

She closed the ledger and finally met his eyes. Firelight painted gold across her cheekbones and turned the rest of her into shadow.

“I’m not sleeping in that bed with you tonight.”

“Fine.” He stood, wiped his hands on his cargos. “Floor’s yours, princess.”

He grabbed a pillow, tossed it on the rug in front of the fire, and stretched out like a wolf claiming new territory. Six-five on a five-foot rug. His boots hung off the edge.

Evie stared at him for a long second, then flicked off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room except for the fire.

Minutes bled past. The house creaked. Snow hissed against steel shutters.

Then the mattress shifted. Bare feet on hardwood. The soft rustle of cashmere.

He didn’t open his eyes until he felt her standing over him.

“I’m cold,” she said, voice barely above the crackle of logs.

He looked up. She was silhouetted against the flames, arms wrapped around herself, lips almost blue.

Cassian sat up slowly. “You have two choices. Get in your own bed alone and freeze, or get down here and use me as a radiator. Your call.”

She hesitated exactly three heartbeats.

Then she dropped to her knees, crawled under the single blanket he’d left, and pressed her ice-cold body against his chest without asking permission.

He went rigid.

Skin to skin where the sweater had ridden up. Her legs tangled with his, one icy foot sliding between his calves. She tucked her head under his chin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His pulse slammed against his ribs so hard he was sure she felt it.

“Rule three,” she whispered against his throat. “No feelings. This is survival.”

“Copy that,” he said, voice rough.

She shivered once more, violently, then went still. Her breathing evened out in under a minute (lawyer trick, falling asleep on command).

Cassian stared at the ceiling beams and counted heartbeats instead of sheep.

He didn’t sleep.

He just listened to the fire die and felt the exact moment her body decided he wasn’t the enemy tonight.

Somewhere above them, a red light blinked steadily in the dark.