The Prototype

63. The Risk We Take

Part 2.

TEMPEST

"Tempest."

A low timbre, velvety cadence of his voice threaded through the fog of my sleep, pulling me out the warmth of unconsciousness

"Tempest."

My name again, softer this time, intimate, like the brush of silk against bare skin. The sound tugging at me, coaxing me into reality.

My eyelids fluttered open, the dim glow of the car's interior lights bleeding into my vision. Blurred shapes sharpened bit by bit as awareness crept in, slow and insidious. Feeling the Peanut butter-colored leather against my fingertips, smooth, rich beneath my touch, grounding me in the present.

The faint scent of polished wood hit my senses mixed with something unmistakeable.

Him.

Marcellus.

His cologne lingering in the air, a mix musk, warm vanilla, and that sharp, intoxicating note that was uniquely his. Wrapping around me, shoving reality into my chest. The pieces began to fall into place all at once.

The car was still. No hum of the engine. No rhythmic sway of motion.

My eyes traveled, downward as awareness seeped in. My body reclined at an angle I wouldn't have allowed under normal circumstances. My head resting against something firm, warm, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. My breath hitched. My pulse spiked, hammering against my ribs like gunfire.

I shifted ever so slightly. The thing beneath me shifted in return.

Not a thing.

Him.

The realization hit like a freight train.

I been sleeping on him.

Every nerve in my body went taut, my heart skipping a beat as my chest tightened. Slowly, cautiously, I tilted my head, daring to look up.

Seeing him.

Marcellus.

Leaning casually against the car door, one arm draped lazily over the seat, exuding effortless dominance. His sharp jawline catching the soft glow of the overhead light, the angles of his face carved into perfection by shadows. His dark, piercing eyes staring down at me, unflinching, taking me in. Yet, giving nothing away, but I could feel the weight of his eyes as if it were a physical thing.

"Tempest," repeated once more, his voice low, deliberate, his tone as smooth as silk over steel.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I jerked. upright, like a puppet on strings, tearing myself away from his warmth.

Silently cursing myself, heat crawling up my neck as I straightened my spine, stretching to rid my body of the stiffness clinging to me. My movements mechanical, rehearsed, but my mind was a storm replaying the last few moments on an unrelenting loop.

How long was I fucking sleep?

And worse—how long have I been fucking sleeping on him?

The thought twisted in my chest, a tangle of frustration and disbelief, as I forced myself to focus, pulling myself together. I rolled my shoulders back, forcing the stiffness out as my eyes shifted toward him.

Marcellus—sitting as calm as ever, as if my unconscious weight against him didn't exist. His expression unreadable, his dark eyes steady as they flicked toward me.

"We're here." His voice broke the silence, calm and even, devoid of any acknowledgement of what just transpired.

"Okay," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended, still heavy with the remnants of much-needed sleep. Sleep that gave me an escape of the turmoil that followed our earlier conversation—the conversation where he left me, me, utterly speechless. I needed to recenter, to realign myself, and clearly, my body took the opportunity to shut down entirely. Now I was awake and the world around me was too still.