Collided Souls

C A N E

"It's your bed," Imogen said, shaking her head. "I'm not sleeping in it. I'll take the couch."

I stared at her blankly. The last thing I wanted to do at 3 a.m. was argue. She was now dressed in one of my dry t-shirts and a pair of boxers. Her damp hair was twisted up into a messy bun.

"Imogen, it's fine." I rubbed my face, exhausted.

"Cane, it's your—"

I cut her off, pushing her gently against the wall and crashing my lips into hers. Her words dissolved between us. Imogen's lips were soft, like worn leather. Addictive. She had me wrapped around her finger, pulling me further than I ever meant to go.

We broke apart with a soft pop.

"I'm sleeping on the couch. You take my bed," I said, my voice lower now.

Imogen blinked, clearly still dazed. "You play unfair."

"Night, Immy." I smirked, untangling from her and walking to the living room. I dropped onto the couch, leaned back, and shut my eyes.

This night was dragging on forever.

Just as the silence settled, my phone buzzed. A frown twisted across my face. I didn't even look at the caller ID. Whoever it was, they were getting an earful.

I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

Nothing.

I rolled my eyes. I didn't have time for prank calls.

Just as I was about to hang up, a voice sliced through the silence—calm, steady, and terrifyingly clear.

"Stay away from Imogen or you die."

Simple. Cold. Final.

I stared at the screen, stunned. My mind scrambled for logic.

"Cane?" Imogen's voice pulled me back.

Snapping out of it, I shoved the phone under my thigh before she could see. I didn't even know what I'd say if she asked.

"Thought you were asleep," I said, sitting up straighter.

"I was, but..." She looked down, fidgeting with her nails. "I couldn't."

Me neither—thanks to that call.

"So..." she started awkwardly.

Meow.

We both looked down the hall where Witty, my cat, padded in with sleepy eyes like she was judging us.

Imogen scooped her up and sat beside me, folding her legs under her. "Do you cuddle her?"

"No." I shrugged. "Why?"

She giggled. "A guy like you with a cat? I expected a big, scary guard dog."

"Well, I don't. And I won't."

That earned another soft laugh, then a stretch of silence.

"How are you with secrets?" I asked, breaking it.

Imogen raised a brow. "Where are you going with this, Cane?"

"Just answer," I nudged her playfully.

She sighed, rolling her eyes with a smile. Every time she smiled, I felt something inside me pull closer to her. The moonlight spilled across her skin, and damn if it didn't make her glow.

"Fine," she said. "I'm good at secrets."

"Alright. One thing about me no one knows—I hate dogs."

She froze. "What? Even puppies?"

I nodded. "They're just... not for me."

"You... I... what?" she sputtered, defeated. I laughed quietly.

Don't get me wrong—dogs are fine. But I'm a cat person. I like my space. I don't need people crowding me, talking nonstop. Give me peace and a book, and I'm good.

"Your turn."

Imogen thought for a moment. "Okay... unlike you and dogs, I don't want to be a teacher forever."

"Me either."

"Really?" She tilted her head. "I thought you liked it."

"Minus the low pay." I grunted. "It was never the dream. I might seem like I fit, but it's not me."

"Then what is?" Her eyes sparkled, like she was peeling back a layer I'd never let anyone see.

I hesitated, scratched the back of my neck. Her question caught me off guard.

Clearing my throat, I said it low. "A writer."

She leaned in. "What?"

"A writer," I repeated, this time louder.

Her whole face lit up, a little squeal escaping her lips. She reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers. Warmth spread up my arm.

"You'd make a great writer."

"You think?" I raised a brow.

"I don't think," she snorted. "I know."

"You're special," I whispered, almost without thinking.

"And so are you," she whispered back.

We locked eyes, everything else falling away. Out of all the people in the world... she was the one who walked into my life.

"Stay away from Imogen or you die."

But why?

A/N

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