CHAPTER EIGHT: A WARNING IN THE WIND
864 Words
Eden hadn’t slept.
She lay tangled in sheets that still remembered the fever of her own hands. The scent of her shame clung to her skin, even after a second shower—cold, punishing, guilt-ridden. What had she done? Worse still…who had she imagined doing it?
Cassian Blackwood.
The name itself felt blasphemous on her tongue that morning. She tried to focus on her devotional, her Bible left open on Psalm 51—Create in me a clean heart, O God... But the words blurred, distorted by the memory of that night. His breath at her ear. His heat at her back. The sinful thrill of how close she'd come to—
Eden bit down hard on her lip. "No more," she whispered.
But the silence that answered her wasn’t peace. It was fear. Shame. And something else: longing.
When she got to work, she tried to disappear into the shadows of the day—filing, observing, running errands—anything to avoid being seen. Especially by him.
But of course, that was impossible. Because in every room, she felt him.
And when she returned to her desk after lunch, she found something that froze her in place.
A folded piece of paper. Unmarked. Tucked half-hidden under her keyboard.
Her fingers hesitated before opening it, and when she did, her heart slammed hard against her ribs.
He ruins everything he touches. You’re next. Stay away.
— A Friend
The paper shook in her hand. For a long moment, Eden sat still, unable to breathe, barely able to think. Had someone seen what happened? Was it a warning? A threat?
She turned her head slowly, scanning the floor, her heartbeat deafening in her ears. Everyone looked so normal. So busy. But someone had left it. Someone knew.
And now she knew something too—this wasn’t just temptation.
It was danger.
_ _ _
Miles away, in the house Eden grew up in, Reverend Haven sat alone in his study, Bible unopened.
The pages were familiar. His prayers routine. But something wasn’t right. Not tonight.
He had felt it before—during vigils, during funerals, during storm-wrecked nights where the veil between good and evil thinned. And now, as the sun dipped into crimson shadow and the world turned a shade darker, the same whisper returned to him:
"Your daughter walks too close to fire."
His jaw clenched. Eden had always been his light. The one thing the world hadn’t broken. He trusted God with her life—but trust didn’t mean silence.
He reached for his phone.
_ _ _
The call came just as Eden was talking to someone new, a coworker named Aaron. He was kind, funny, and a little flirtatious in a way that Eden didn’t mind. It felt safe. Innocent.
But Cassian saw it.
Across the room, behind smoked glass, his eyes locked on her like a predator watching another man circle what he already claimed.
It wasn’t rage. Not yet. It was possession. And it burned inside him like gasoline waiting for a match.
He sent a message.
She froze when she saw it.
Conference Room 22. Now.
Eden swallowed. Aaron looked at her, brows raised. “You okay?”
She nodded, then walked fast, heart climbing into her throat. The halls seemed quieter. Dimmer. Her heels clicked louder than usual.
When she entered the room, he was already waiting.
Door locked.
His eyes were black storms.
He didn’t speak. Not at first. Just circled her.
“Is that what you want?” Cassian’s voice was quiet. Dangerous. “Someone like Aaron? He’ll make you laugh. Maybe even bring you flowers.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
“He won’t make you feel, Eden.”
And then his hand was at her throat, not choking, just holding, just…possessing, his thumb brushing her jaw.
“You’re mine,” he whispered darkly, “even if you don’t admit it yet.”
Later that night, just before closing, she was summoned again.
But this time, not by message.
By instinct.
By longing.
The rooftop was deserted, lit only by the city’s distant glow. Eden stepped out into the wind, and found him already there—hands in his pockets, eyes to the skyline.
He didn’t turn.
“I ruin everything I touch, Eden.”
She stood in silence.
“I’ve tried to stop this,” he said, voice lower now. “But when I see you with someone else…I become something I don’t recognize.”
She walked to him. Slowly. Recklessly.
“I’m scared of you,” she said.
His hand reached out, gripped her wrist gently. “Good. That means you still have time to run.”
But she didn’t.
And when he finally looked at her, the need between them was unbearable.
He leaned in, breath against her lips.
“I want to worship every inch of your skin,” he said, raw and broken. “But I want to ruin you too. Completely.”
And then, just as their mouths nearly touched, he pulled away.
“You should go,” Cassian whispered.
And then he left her—shaking, wet, and undone—under a starless sky.
- Writer
