Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 188

**TITLE: Brute 188**
**Chapter 188**

**ATASHA’S POV**

“Where is he?” I demanded, my heart racing like a wild stallion as I turned my gaze to Prince Kaelith.

“He is…”

I cut him off, not willing to wait for the rest of his words.

Whatever Kaelith intended to say was irrelevant, because the instant I stepped past him, I felt it—a faint sensation at first, like a whisper teasing the edge of my consciousness, then growing stronger with every stride I took toward the door. It wasn’t the bond he had severed between us, not that clean, sharp line we had once shared. No, this was something different. A steady pulse, a rhythm that resonated just beyond my reach. A heartbeat I recognized better than my own.

Cassian.

He was alive, and he was near. I could sense him.

My bare feet struck the floor with more force than I intended as I dashed into the corridor. Kaelith’s voice trailed off behind me, fading into the background as I caught sight of the next door. I didn’t need his guidance; every fiber of my being was drawn toward that room as if an invisible tether had been tied around my chest, anchoring me to whatever awaited me inside.

I didn’t bother to knock. My hand grasped the handle, and in one swift motion, I flung the door open.

And then, I saw him.

Cassian was there.

He stood facing the window, his broad shoulders taut beneath his coat, radiating an intensity that was unmistakable. Elder Agape lingered near him, hands neatly folded, while Lucas stood a step back, his voice low and serious, but it was silenced the moment the door slammed against the wall. Three heads turned to me in unison, but I barely registered the presence of the other two.

My focus was solely on him.

He was upright. He was breathing. Life pulsed through him, his skin vibrant, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and there was no trace of blood on his lips. For a suspended moment, I found myself rooted in the doorway, gripping the frame with such force that my fingers ached, as my mind struggled to process the reality before my eyes.

He wasn’t sprawled in the snow. He wasn’t gasping for air. He was standing there, alive, right in front of me.

I felt the heat prick at the back of my eyes before the first tear fell.

Cassian’s gaze locked onto mine. Whatever Lucas had been saying vanished in the air between us. Agape’s expression shifted, but I couldn’t decipher it, nor did I care to. Cassian held my stare for a few agonizing seconds, seconds that felt stretched and heavy.

Then his voice sliced through the tension in the room.

“Leave us.”

In an instant, Lucas straightened, offering a brief nod that barely registered in my mind before he slipped out, brushing past me as he exited into the corridor. Elder Agape’s eyes lingered on me for a heartbeat longer, as if searching for some unspoken truth in my expression, and then he bowed his head toward Cassian and followed Lucas without uttering a word.

The door clicked shut behind them, and suddenly, it was just the two of us.

For a fleeting moment, I remained where I was, frozen by the overwhelming rush of relief and the haunting echoes of the nightmare I had just escaped. The last sound of him struggling to breathe still rang in my ears, a ghostly reminder of the terror I had just faced.

Then, without thinking, my body surged into action before my mind could catch up.

I crossed the room in a blur, moving faster than I had realized. The sword at my side brushed against my leg, but it felt like a distant concern. One moment, there was space between us, and the next, I crashed into him, colliding with his chest hard enough to expel the air from my lungs. My arms wrapped around him instinctively, clinging tightly to his torso as if I could anchor him to me by sheer willpower.

He was solid. He was warm, just like every other living being.

“Shhh…” he murmured again. “It’s done now. Everything is done.”

His other hand found its way to my back, not pulling me away, but holding me there, as if he needed to feel my presence as much as I needed to feel his. My breath trembled against his chest, and he continued to stroke my hair, his fingers tracing paths that eased the tightness in my shoulders, inch by inch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the top of my head. The apology caught me off guard. “For all of it. For what you saw. For what I put you through. For leaving you there while I—”

“You don’t have to—” I began, but he tightened his hold slightly, not enough to hinder me, just enough to convey that he wasn’t finished.

“Yes, I do,” he insisted.

I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes searched mine, the certainty that once resided there now replaced by something quieter, something almost fragile. He looked alive, yes, but he also bore the weight of a man who had stared too close to the brink and realized just how significant that line was.

I could have said what I would have said months ago, when I was still striving to find my place in his world, when every instinct in my body bent to avoid conflict with him.

There’s nothing to apologize for.

But that version of me had vanished, burned away in the fires of my arrival in the north and the blood-soaked courtyard.

So instead, I sniffled, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and uttered the first thing that came to mind.

“As you should,” I told him, lifting my chin just a fraction. “I deserve an apology.”

His brows shot up, not in offense, but almost in relief, as if that response made far more sense to him than any soft platitude I could have offered.

I pressed on, unwilling to let the moment shift to something too gentle too quickly. “But I’m not forgiving you that easily.”