NIKOLIA
I WAS PISSED. No, beyond pissed.
I’d woken up to an empty bed, the sheets still warm where Claude had been lying. I told myself to let it go. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe I was smothering him. But after ten minutes of staring at the door, all I could think about was how much I wanted him back in my bed—where I could touch him, where he belonged.
So, I went looking. And I found him.
With Jonny f*****g Hernandez’s.
“What do you want from him?” Claude’s voice was tight, his stance tense. The wind tugged at his hair, the glow of the ship’s lights casting shadows across his face.
I stalked toward him, fists clenched, grinding my teeth so hard it hurt. His eyes widened as he backed up until the cool metal bars stopped him. Good. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“I should
