Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 149

The world feels like it’s moving in slow motion, the sound of cheers and clapping slicing through the cold air.

Asher stands there, his shoulders heaving, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. Snow clings to his jacket, his pants, his hair.

And blood.

Blood drips from his left arm, a thin, bright red line trailing down his wrist, staining the snow beneath him.

I take a shaky step forward, my boots crunching in the snow. My heart is a drum in my ears, my entire body buzzing with leftover fear.

But when Asher turns, when his dark eyes lock onto the group, I see it.

Rage.

Pure, unfiltered, murderous rage.

The clapping dies down, the whistles fade, the smiles falter.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” His voice is low, rough, a growl that vibrates through the air, colder and sharper than the wind cutting through the trees.

People glance at each other, confused, murmuring, someone even lets out a nervous laugh.

“You’re all fucking idiots,” he snaps, his eyes flashing. “What part of ‘no food, no going off the path’ was too hard for you to understand?”

Someone starts to protest, but he cuts them off with a sharp, slashing motion of his hand.

“The rules were clear. No food. No wandering off. Why?” He takes a step forward, his boots crunching through the blood-streaked snow. “Because there’s wildlife out here. Animals with their young, animals that will rip your throat out if you step too close.”

Silence.

I’m frozen, my breath coming in short, shallow puffs, my pulse racing.

He turns his sharp, blazing eyes on the girl who threw the branch, the one who screamed and sent the wolf lunging. Her face is pale, her lips trembling.

“Honestly,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone, “I should’ve let you die for being this fucking stupid.”

She gasps, her hands flying to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes. Someone beside her mutters something, but Asher’s not done.

“You have no idea what you just did,” he snarls, taking another step forward, his boots leaving bloody tracks. “That animal was just protecting its cub. You scared it. You cornered it. You attacked it. And if that wolf is out there now, limping, injured, unable to hunt, unable to protect its young, that’s on you. That’s your fault. Because you can’t pull your head out of your ass long enough to follow a few simple fucking rules.”

Silence.

Tense. Heavy. Unbearable.

I want to move, to say something, to reach out to him, but I can’t. My feet are frozen to the ground, my heart still pounding in my chest.

Asher stands there, his chest heaving, his hands curled into tight, trembling fists, blood still dripping from his arm.

Then his eyes find mine.

I don’t know what he sees there—fear, maybe, or relief, or a mix of a thousand emotions that I can’t even name right now—but his expression softens, just a fraction.

He takes a step toward me, his boots crunching in the snow, his eyes locked on mine.

And then, without a word, he pulls me into his arms.

I stumble forward, my face pressing into his chest, his arm wrapping around my back, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of my head.

I can feel his heart hammering against my cheek, his breaths coming in hot, shaky bursts against my hair. His grip is tight, almost bruising, like he’s holding onto me to keep himself from falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers curling into the back of his jacket, my entire body trembling against him.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice muffled against his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t answer. Just holds me tighter, his fingers tangling in my hair, his breaths still coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

I don’t know how long we stand there, wrapped up in each other, the cold wind biting at our exposed skin, the group around us silent, stunned.

But eventually, his grip loosens, his arms relaxing just a fraction, his breaths evening out, his heartbeat slowing beneath my cheek.

And when he pulls back, just enough to look down at me, his eyes are softer, his jaw less tense, his lips no longer pulled back in that harsh, unforgiving line.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my cheek.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, my eyes too full of tears to look up at him properly.

His hand moves to my waist, his fingers squeezing just a little, a silent reassurance, a promise, before he turns to face the others, his eyes still dark, still stormy, but no longer murderous.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice rough, his eyes flicking to the blood-streaked snow around his boots. “We’re heading back. Now.”

People scramble to obey, the tension snapping, the air crackling with nerves and adrenaline.

But even as we start walking, his hand never leaves my waist, his touch firm and grounding, a silent promise that, no matter what, he’ll always be between me and the danger.