A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 54: In the Soft Morning Light

His arms were firm, solid, wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him with a quiet certainty, his body radiating heat in the cool morning air.

The scent of him—warm, something faintly like cedar and worn cotton—washed over her, comforting in a way she couldn't process, couldn't understand. Her hands twitched at her sides. This wasn't the James Potter she knew. Not the arrogant, reckless boy she had spent years loathing, not the relentless thorn in her side, not the infuriatingly good person she had spent so much time avoiding.

He was someone else.

Someone who had waited for her.

Someone who missed her.

Her throat was suddenly too tight.

Her hands twitched at her sides, fingers curling into nothing.

She pulled away and turned around sharply, heart hammering against her ribs, searching his face for some kind of explanation.

"What are you—"

She didn't get to finish.

James pulled her into a real hug this time.

A full, encompassing embrace.

Her face pressed against his chest, against the soft fabric of his shirt, the steady thump of his heartbeat right there, beneath her cheek.

His arms wrapped around her securely, one hand resting between her shoulder blades, the other splayed across the curve of her spine.

She stiffened at first, completely unprepared.

His voice rumbled against her temple, low, gentle.

"I really did miss you, Ana."

His head bent over hers, his cheek pressing lightly to the side of her hair.

Anastasia stayed still.

What was she supposed to do?

What did people do in moments like these?

She didn't know whether to pull back or pull him closer, whether to move or stay completely still.

She breathed him in, standing there, letting him hold her, letting him wrap himself around her like something safe, like a warm blanket.

But then, it hit her.

That sensation. That pull.

It coiled inside her like a tide rolling back, like something curling up her spine, something begging—no, demanding—contact.

Her breath stuttered.

It was stronger than before. More urgent.

It wanted to reach for him.

It wanted to touch his skin, press against the place where his bandages lay, feel the warmth of his blood beneath her hands—

She jerked.

Her fingers curled into fists against his back, her breath shaky.

"Your bandages..." she whispered against his chest.

James didn't move.

"Don't care," he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

But she did.

She felt it.

The pulse of his wound, the slow seep of red beneath the layers of fabric, the way her magic reacted to it.

It terrified her.

And James—James felt her body tense, felt the way her breathing shifted.

Before he could say anything—