“This isn’t over, Priest!” yelled Grant. “Not by a fucking long shot!”
Camden glanced over to see the other male—now healed and raging—being held back by a bunch of their pride mates. Camden only flicked him a disinterested glance and then tugged on Aspen’s wrist, leading her into the building and over to the elevator.
“You wanted that to happen, didn’t you?” she asked.
Camden pushed the button for the elevator. “What?”
“He was a figure of fury back there. He didn’t look at any of the people holding him back. Didn’t even respond to Havana telling him to calm down. It was like all he could see was you. You wanted that. You want him to focus all his emotional energy on you.”
“It’s better than him obsessing over ‘winning’ you.” Camden pulled her into the elevator as the metal doors slid open. “Now let’s go eat, I’m hungry.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Snapping awake, Aspen saw it was still dark. Her body all tingly, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand. 2:17am. Ugh.
She didn’t need to ask herself why a sex dream had assaulted her. Nope. Not when watching Camden fight affected her on a very elemental level. She’d earlier blocked it out as best she could, determined not to acknowledge it. So it wasn’t surprising that it had preyed on her while she slept—a time when her defenses were down.
They’d eaten after he’d taken a shower, and he’d carried on with his evening as if no brawl had occurred. They’d talked and watched TV while they drank a few beers. The whole time, she’d sensed that something was nibbling at him. Having a pretty good idea of what it was, she’d tried getting him to offload it, but he’d gently blown her off.
She hadn’t pushed him to talk. It had been more important to her that he relax and rest, so she’d silently resolved that they’d speak of it tomorrow. Or today, as it were.
Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes, determined to find sleep. She tossed. She turned. She sighed. She adjusted her pillow. But sleep eluded her.
Fed up, she headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She’d only taken a single step inside when she realized she wasn’t alone. Camden sat at the dining table clad in only sweatpants, his chair angled away from the table so that he could stretch his long legs out in front of him.
The lights were off, but she could see him clearly enough with her shifter-enhanced vision. There was no emotion in his eyes, and his expression was carefully blank. Her bearcat studied him, concerned.
“Hey,” Aspen said softly, incredibly conscious that she was dressed in only panties and a long shirt. It wasn’t indecent or anything. It hit her mid-thigh, and he’d seen her in less clothes. Still, she felt slightly awkward. And seeing that hard chest packed with pure male muscle didn’t help.
“Hey,” he returned, his voice just as low.
She tilted her head. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Weird dream. You?”
“Weird dream.” She crossed to him. “Want a drink or something?”
He shook his head.
Situating herself between his spread thighs, she squatted in front of him. “You’re not like her.”
Camden didn’t need to ask who she meant. He wasn’t whatsoever surprised that Aspen had guessed what thoughts were circulating through his mind. She knew him too well. Maybe it should annoy him. It didn’t. He liked that she saw him exactly as he was, because he knew she accepted him anyway.
“You saw the mess I made of Grant,” he said. “I hadn’t lost control. I did that because I wanted to. And I liked it.”
He sometimes wondered if his mother had experienced that exact same dark thrill each time she’d hurt him. She’d definitely enjoyed it—he’d sensed that much, and he’d loathed her for it. If he could feel that same rush, he was no better than her, was he?
“Listen to me.” Aspen pinned his gaze with hers. “You’re not. Like. Her. If Grant had been a child, would you have touched him?”
He felt his brow furrow. “No.”
“Esme would have. She liked to hurt those who were weaker than her. Why that kind of thing makes anyone feel powerful, I don’t know. Anyone can hurt someone who is physically weaker than they are, so it’s not an indicator of strength. What I do know is that people like her don’t sit around reflecting on their actions unless it’s to relish the memories.”
“You think I regret hurting him?”
“No. But I think you wish you did.”
He did wish he could feel some remorse over it. He could have ended the fight long before he had. He hadn’t needed to hurt Grant so badly to make his point. Camden had done it anyway. He’d liked it. And he couldn’t bring himself to feel any guilt over it. But, yeah, he wished he could. “And that’s good?”