Burn The Air
552 Words
I’m still shaking.
Not from fear. From him.
Kael didn’t yell. Didn’t growl or posture. He just looked at Brielle—and the world fell silent. Like his presence alone shifted the atmosphere.
And now I can’t stop thinking about it.
My fingers tremble as I shove my apron over my head in the back room of the bookstore café. The place is half coffee shop, half library—and it’s one of the few quiet corners of this town that feels like it isn’t choking me.
But tonight, the quiet doesn’t settle. It buzzes.
I try to focus, stocking shelves, prepping espresso, wiping down tables. My boss is upstairs in his office, and I’m alone in the store.
Until I’m not.
I feel him before I hear him.
The door chimes, and heat rolls over me like a second skin.
Kael.
Of course it’s him.
He doesn’t say anything as he steps inside. Just leans against the doorway like he belongs there. Like he belongs everywhere.
His eyes are unreadable, locked on me.
“You following me now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He shrugs, slow. “Coincidence.”
“Bullshit.”
His lips curve into the faintest smirk. “I was hungry.”
I motion to the empty shelves. “We don’t serve steak, wolf-boy.”
He walks closer. Too close.
“I’m not here for food,” he says quietly.
I swallow.
Hard.
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers. “You should’ve hit her.”
“You think violence is the answer?”
“No,” he murmurs, voice dark velvet. “But it feels good sometimes, doesn’t it?”
I don’t respond. Can’t. My hands clench the rag I was using to wipe the counter.
Kael steps behind it.
Invading my space.
He doesn’t touch me—but the way his body towers behind mine makes my skin hum.
“You scare her,” he says.
I turn my head, chin lifting. “Good.”
His hand lifts like he’s going to touch me—then stops, fingers hovering just above my cheek.
“You scare me, too.”
I freeze.
“What?”
His breath brushes my neck. “Because I want you in ways I shouldn’t. Ways I can’t.”
I whirl around to face him, chest tight, breath shallow. “Then don’t.”
“I’ve tried.”
His mouth is so close I could taste it if I leaned in even an inch. His eyes flick to mine—asking, waiting.
One heartbeat.
Two.
I almost do it.
Almost close that space.
Almost let the fire win.
But I step back.
Kael doesn’t move.
Just watches me with something like pain in his expression. Or restraint.
“You’re not ready,” he says quietly.
“No,” I whisper. “I’m not.”
And we both know if he touched me now, I’d break in two.
He nods once, then steps away.
The cold rushes in behind him.
But as he reaches the door, he says without looking back, “You will be.”
The door chimes.
And he’s gone.
I sink to the floor behind the counter, knees weak, hands shaking.
Because I don’t know what scares me more:
That he’s right.
Or that I want him to be.
- Writer
