The Vaelis Knot

Chapter Six Caleb

My muscles felt dense, buzzing with that post-workout clarity. Adam and I were going to the Astral Sip for a protein shake. I told myself I wasn’t going to be disappointed when I didn’t see Kenzie behind the counter, but I knew better.

On the way there, Adam was filling me in on his twin sister, Alana. It was a good distraction from my disappointment and longing for Kenzie, so I watched him as he talked. He was animated, his energy bouncing off the pavement as he told me she’d landed an internship at the city newspaper. Alana was the mirror image of Adam, right down to the pale blonde hair and those rich, chocolate eyes. But where Adam looked approachable, Alana looked like a dream pulled straight off a newsstand. With her full lips and effortless, magazine-ready beauty, it was almost hard to take her seriously as a journalist—until she opened her mouth.

They were San Bernardino born and bred, just like us. Alana wanted to be a journalist in the city, and Adam wasn't about to stay in San Bernardino alone—not with me moving to L.A. for Oscar and the yard, and Stevie right on my heels after graduation. So, he packed up too. Between the sparring at the scrapyard and his side gig at the climbing gym, he stayed busy, though most of his 'training' seemed to involve chasing Stevie around like a dog on a leash.

"She’s already acting like she’s gunning for a goddamn Pulitzer," he joked.

Alana had always been the one with her nose in everyone’s business—in a helpful way, mostly. She had this uncanny ability to piece together details that everyone else missed, playing detective since we were kids. When she decided to go to school for journalism, it wasn't a surprise to anyone. She had a way of looking at a situation and seeing the hidden headline.

"She’s going to be a nightmare for the local politicians," I said, a genuine smile touching my face.

"Tell me about it," Adam laughed, his pale colored hair catching the afternoon sun. "She’s already started a 'file' on the recent animal attacks near home. While we’re home for Christmas she plans on interviewing the survivor.”

Alana was smart if there was a story to be found, she was exactly the kind of person who would dig until she found the bone.

We stepped into the shop, the chime above the door sounding like a gunshot in the quiet. My heart stopped, then slammed against my ribs with a sudden, primitive intensity that made a ten-round spar feel like a walk in the park.

Kenzie was there.

She was leaned over the counter of Astral Sip, focused on a prep list, those fluorescent lights catching the wild pink streaks in her hair as she moved. My pulse kicked into a gear I didn't even know I had. Suddenly, I was fighting for every breath, my lungs burning as I tried to force my expression into something steady—something that didn't scream how much her absence had hollowed out my chest.

The apex of my focus—the crowd, the cage, the contract—all blurred into a dull, gray background. The world narrowed until there was nothing left but the girl with the bright green eyes. My body reacted to her with a raw, undeniable pull I couldn't wrap my head around. It wasn’t just from missing her; it was a cellular recognition. Every nerve ending was suddenly alive, reaching for her, a single word roaring through my brain:

Mine.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, my knuckles white as I fought to ground myself. I had to hide the fact that one look at her had completely dismantled the version of me Ox was expecting tonight. I was still trying to find my voice when she spoke without even looking up from the paper.

"So," she said, her voice a smooth, familiar melody that cut right through my armor. "Did you actually come in for a shake, or did you just miss my face?"

She finally looked up, those green eyes locking onto mine with a challenge that made my pulse spike all over again.

I let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-growl, the sound vibrating in my chest like a warning. I was fighting a war under my skin, trying to keep my hands from reaching out and anchoring her to the spot.

"Actually," I said, my voice dropping into a raspy, low frequency that felt far too intimate for a public counter, "I was just checking to see if the cosmos finally decided to spit you back out, or if I needed to go buy a telescope to find you."

She laughed, a silver sound that made the hair on my arms stand up and my pulse stutter. She tilted her head, those wild pink streaks shifting over her shoulder as she studied me.

"A telescope? Careful, Caleb," she teased. "If you start looking at the stars, you might actually start believing in them."

She reached out, her fingers trailing absently over the edge of a blender, her gaze softening in a way that made the room feel ten degrees hotter. My body was on high alert, every nerve ending screaming mine as I watched the way the light hit her green eyes. I was desperately trying to play it cool, to keep the "champion" mask from cracking, but she was a force of nature I hadn't prepared for.

"You know," she murmured, her voice dropping to a confidential hum, "the moon was in a waning crescent when I hit the Mojave. It’s a time for releasing things, for letting go of the noise. But no matter how far I drove or how dark the sky got, there was this one constant frequency I couldn't seem to tune out."

She paused, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that pinned me to the floorboards.

"A heavy, grounding pull," she continued, "that kept pointing back toward... this specific center of gravity."

I felt a sudden, sharp hitch in my chest, a physical blow that no opponent in the cage could ever land. This specific center of gravity. The primitive part of me wanted to vault the counter and demand she say it plainly, but the rest of me was paralyzed. Was she talking about me? Or was I just reading too much into one of her Kenzie-isms? I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart hammering a rhythm against my ribs that I was terrified she could see through my shirt.

I felt a sudden, sharp hitch in my chest. This specific center of gravity. “So,” she added, her lips curving into a soft, knowing line, “the stars told me to come home.”

"The stars have good timing," I said, my voice dropping into a low, steady vibration. "Because I was about five minutes away from filing a missing person’s report with the Andromeda Galaxy."

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart hammering a rhythm against my ribs that I was terrified she could see through my shirt. I was desperate to bridge the distance, to see if that grounding pull felt the same way to her as the lightning currently dancing under my skin.

She laughed, a silver sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. She tilted her head, those wild pink streaks shifting over her shoulder like a neon nebula.

"Andromeda?" she countered, her voice dropping into a teasing hum. "If you’d looked that far, you would’ve seen me looking right back. You’re such a massive, beautiful celestial body that I could probably feel your heat signature from the next star system over. Believe me, Caleb, I spent four weeks staring at the desert sky, but it didn't have anything on the view I've been missing right here."

The air in the shop suddenly felt pressurized, the oxygen thinning like the atmosphere right before a massive electrical storm.

Watching the way her throat moved when she laughed, I felt a jagged, territorial roar in my blood that nearly leveled me. It was a primitive surge of possessiveness—a sudden, irrational conviction that she belonged exactly where I could see her, and nowhere else. I didn't understand why the sight of her back behind that counter made me want to vault over the laminate and claim her right there, drowning out all the cosmic talk with something raw and undeniable.

Then she said it. That bit about my heat signature. About how the desert views didn't have anything on the one standing right in front of her.

I didn't have a witty comeback. I didn't even have a breath. My knuckles turned white against the cool surface, the only thing keeping me from acting on the take her now screaming in my head. I just stared at her, my jaw tight, my brain short-circuiting at the blatant, effortless way she’d just stripped my gears. For a man who lived by discipline and calculated strikes, her total lack of a filter was a tactical nightmare.

"Thank the heavens!" Adam’s voice sliced through the tension like a neon sign, shattering the pressurized air in the shop. He sauntered up beside me, leaning heavily on the counter with a grin that was entirely too wide for my current state of mind. "I'm glad the stars finally released their hostage, Kenz, because this guy has been moping around like a lost satellite out of orbit."

He shot me a pointed, theatrical wink that I desperately wanted to punch off his face before he turned his full charm toward her.

"Seriously though, I missed you too—mostly because you're the only one on this planet who can actually make a damn decent shake. I’ve been starving for a real one since you left. Nobody else has the touch." He nudged my shoulder, his voice dropping into a stage whisper that definitely wasn't quiet enough.

"And trust me, Caleb here missed more than just the extra protein you add for him. He’s been staring at his phone like it was a holy relic for three weeks."

Kenzie’s laugh returned, bright and effortless. "Is that so, Caleb? A holy relic?"

I stayed rooted to the spot, my jaw tight and my knuckles still white against the counter. I tried to ignore the way my blood was still singing from her "heat signature" comment while Adam treated my internal meltdown like a comedy set.

"The shake, Adam," I managed to say through gritted teeth, not taking my eyes off Kenzie. “Get the shake so you can leave.”

Adam put his hands up in mock surrender, laughing as he stepped back. "Alright, alright. Message received.” I heard the bell chime as he left, I don’t think he even ordered a shake.

"You want your regular?" she asked, her voice light and musical, cutting through the heavy tension I was still wearing like armor. She didn’t wait for an answer, already turning toward the blender with a graceful, unhurried ease that drove me crazy.

"Double chocolate, peanut butter, and enough protein to fuel a small army? Or are we feeling adventurous today?"

"The regular's fine," I managed to say, though my throat felt like it was closing up.

I watched her move, the rhythmic sound of the blender starting up providing a mechanical heartbeat to the room. Every time she reached for an ingredient, the light hit those pink streaks, a constant reminder that she was back, she was real, and she was currently dismantling every bit of pre-fight discipline I had worked weeks to build.

"The regular," she repeats, her tone dropping into a low, sultry purr that vibrates right through the noise of the shop.

As she turned away, any hope of maintaining my discipline evaporated.

She leaned over to grab the industrial-sized jar of peanut butter, the fabric of her shorts stretching thin and giving me a front-row seat to her ass. I could see the soft tanned curve of her ass peeking out from the hem, a sight that sent a violent, territorial roar through my blood. It was easily the most perfect thing I’d ever seen, and when she shifted her weight to start the blender, the subtle, rhythmic bounce of her ass made my brain short-circuit.

My memory took over, uninvited and vivid, hitting me harder than any strike I’d ever taken in the cage. I knew exactly how that weight felt filling my palms. I knew the searing heat of her skin and the exact, agonizing sensation of her grinding that ass against my c**k until I was blind with it. I could practically hear the way she’d arch her back and scream my name when I hit the right spot.

"But I don’t know, Caleb," she murmured, flipping the switch on the blender but keeping her eyes locked on mine over her shoulder. "Looking at you right now... you don’t look like a man who wants to play it safe. You look like you’re starving for something that isn't on the menu."

The reaction was instantaneous and violent. My blood surged south in a heavy, rhythmic thrum, and I was rock-hard before I could even draw a second breath. It was a thick, aching pressure that my gym shorts had no hope of concealing; the fabric was strained to the breaking point, my c**k pulsing against the material as if it were trying to tear through. I shifted my stance, but there was no hiding the truth—the heavy, undeniable presence of my need for her was a raw ache that was practically begging to break free.

I gritted my teeth, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the edge of the laminate. I was fighting for every goddamn breath, my lungs burning as I tried not to sound like a savage, but the battle was already lost. The disciplined fighter who had walked in here was gone, replaced by something far more primal.

In that moment, I made my choice. I was done fighting the pull, done pretending that the "regular" was enough to satisfy the hunger tearing through me. I didn't care about the discipline or the stakes of the night anymore. I was going to have her. I was going to let her systematically dismantle every bit of restraint I had left until there was nothing but the raw, pulsing heat between us.

Fuck my control. If she wanted to be my center of gravity, I was more than ready to let her pull me under. I was a man built for violence, but looking at her, I was just a starving animal who had forgotten how to breathe—and I was done waiting for the world to give me what belonged to me.

"You're awfully quiet over there," she said, her voice a low, teasing hum that cut through the dying whir of the blender. She didn't look up immediately, focusing instead on the meticulous pour of the dark, thick shake, but I could see the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

"Thinking of your match tonight?" she asked, finally lifting those green eyes to mine, her gaze heavy with a challenge that made my vision swim. "Or just admiring the view?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

I just stood there, my knuckles bone-white against the laminate, my entire body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with the cage. My eyes were fixed on her, dark and dilated, tracking the pulse in her throat and the way her damp hair clung to the nape of her neck.

I was done thinking about the match. I was done thinking about anything that didn't involve the weight of her in my arms and the taste of her on my tongue. The silence between us wasn't empty; it was thick, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a total blackout. I wasn't just admiring the view—I was memorizing it, claiming it, and preparing to dismantle the very boundary that kept me on my side of the counter.

"The match is a thousand miles away right now," I finally rasped, my voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. I took a slow, deliberate step closer. "And as for the view... I think you know exactly what it’s doing to me."

Her gaze traveled slowly down my body, a deliberate, heavy path that traced the lines of my chest and the hard ridges of my stomach until it settled on the thick, pulsing length of my c**k straining against my gym shorts. I didn't bother shifting to hide it; I leaned into the laminate, actually enjoying the way her green eyes darkened and dilated as she stared at the blatant evidence of what she was doing to me.

I watched her throat move as she swallowed, my own pulse thudding a rhythmic, heavy warning in my ears. I wanted her to see it. I wanted her to know that after a month of her being gone, she’d come back to a man who was one more hip-sway away from losing every ounce of his tactical restraint. I wanted it to be undeniable—that I had no self-control when it came to her anymore, and that I was done pretending I did.

The air between us was thick, tasting of ozone and her perfume, and I could feel the heat radiating off her in waves. I let a slow, dangerous smirk tug at the corner of my mouth, my voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that felt like a physical touch against her skin.

"What's wrong?" I rasped, my eyes locked on hers as I crowded the counter, my shadow swallowing her whole. "Still thinking about the stars... or just admiring the view?"