The next two hours fly by. Emily tells us all about Hailey—the wolf shifter from the Iron Claw pack she’s been dating—while Ava reminisces about the time she spent in Paris at theprestigious pastry school and all the places she and Logan visited in Europe. When it’s time to go, both of them hug me and tell me they had a great time, and that they hope we’ll see each other again.
What surprises me most is that I had a great time, too. I can’t believe two dark creatures treated me better than the Order’s members have since I first stepped foot at the compound seven years ago. These women—whom I barely know—acted as though we’d been friends for years.
Not long afterEmily and Ava left, feeling restless and bored out of my mind, I decided to at least get a workout in. Carter joined me at Kaiden’s private state-of-the-art gym two floors below. However, I could only do a basic stretching routine because my ribs kept sending jolts of fiery throbs throughout my body at the slightest effort. Frustrated, I stormed back to the penthouse, took a shower, and got ready for bed.
Nothing I tried to fall asleep has worked, though. I swear I even counted sheep. I keep tossing and turning, my body getting tangled in the silky black sheets. I bring them to my nose to inhale Kaiden’s intoxicating scent, but it only intensifies the ache beneath my solar plexus that made its presence known the second he popped off.
Ugh, when the fuck did I become a simpering fool? Get a grip, Iris. It’s been only two days.
Fuck this. Clearly, I’m not used to being in bed at this hoursince my hellseeker shifts usually end right before sunrise. I don’t even know why I tried. Heaving out a sigh, I push myself up and stride out of the bedroom—not before picking up my mother’s journal, trying to open it, failing, and putting it back on the nightstand…again. Every single time I’ve tried to read even one sentence, guilt has shackled my lungs until I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. Guilt that I survived when she didn’t, piled on top of the fact that, before a few weeks ago, I couldn’t even remember her face. It’s a tar-like stain, permanently marring my soul. Maybe it’s time I finally visit my mother’s grave after all these years and try to read it there.
I had intended to put a movie on, but now that I’m out in the hallway, curiosity gets the best of me, so I open the first door to my right. Blinking a few times, I take in the dark room. It’s a library decorated in deep navy hues—vastly different from the modern décor of the rest of the penthouse. Silvery moonlight bathes the bookshelves, which are crammed full of books and cover the entirety of the walls. A vintage brass chandelier towers over the brown leather couch and the two armchairs that form a cozy reading nook in front of the fireplace in the center of the room. I don’t know how I can tell that the huge canvas above the fireplace, depicting the same regretful angel bowing on one knee that Kaiden has tattooed on his back, is the real one—and the other in his office at Sin is only a copy—but I do. Like every other time I’ve seen the image, my heartstrings turn into knots. It somehow feels worse now. Ominous. So I shut the door and get out.
When I open the second door, I stumble into Kaiden’s office. Here, the colors match the rest of the penthouse. The city lights sparkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the room.
Prompted by my curiosity, I sit down in the executive chair behind the desk. There’s a squeaky sound as my naked thighsstick to the cold leather. I spin the chair, trying to imagine Kaiden doing the same. A laugh bubbles out of me because he would never do something so childish. My elbow hits something, and as I whip my head around, the tower of files on the desk tumbles to the floor.
Shit.
I stand and kneel to gather the pages scattered across the hardwood floor. I don’t mean to snoop more than I already have, but the photos of children and the word “missing” stamped above them in bold, red letters snag my attention. Kaiden never mentioned anything about missing children. Wait. Why would he have missing children reports? Unless they’re dark creatures.
My suspicion is confirmed as I start reading through them: wolf shifters, light and dark witches, sirens, warlocks, fae, selkies. Even rare shifters like panthers and ravens. There are also some vampires among the kidnappings, but they’re all adults. Maybe it’s because vampires can’t have children, and turning a child is strictly forbidden—not only because that’s horrible but also because children lack impulse control when it comes to blood. It seems like the kidnappings have increased in number over the years, but in the last two and a half months, they’re at an all-time high. That’s weird. I wonder why that is…I need to ask Kaiden about this when he returns. There has to be something I can do to help.
I pile them in a neat stack before placing them back on the desk. Something catches my eye on the computer screen that is now turned on. I don’t mean to keep snooping, Ireallydon’t, but Kaiden probably forgot to shut down his computer, and I must have moved the mouse when I hit the files, causing the display to wake and show Kaiden’s email inbox.
What the?
The very first unopened email in his inbox is from the same chocolatier company that makes the chocolate-covered blackcherries soaked in liquor—the ones I’ve received every year on my birthday since I woke up from the accident. With sweat-slicked fingers, I bend over the keyboard, grab hold of the mouse, and click on it. It’s a promotional email showcasing the new flavors they added. I type the company’s name into the search bar. A few emails containing receipts pop up. I open the first one. It’s dated three days before my birthday. I open a second, dated the same but from the year before.
This can’t be a coincidence.
Every time I got the feeling I knew Kaiden since waking here after the umbra attack flashes through my mind. I miss a few letters as I type the word “flowers” into the search bar. Ihave to delete them and start again several times. Sure enough, there’s a receipt from a flower company for a bouquet of a hundred black irises dated a few days before my birthday. He ordered them all the way from Jordan.
My gut feeling wasn’t wrong. Either Kaiden has been stalking me for years, or I somehowknowhim. We have to have met before the umbra attack.
A thousand scenarios bounce around in my head. The fact that it’s been over two months since the attack and he hasn’t mentioned he knew me once cuts me deep, like a serrated blade. I even blatantly asked him that night at the succubus party…and he avoided my question.
What if Kaiden was the one stalking me and not Erik?
I mean, he knew my name, my address, and my favorite foods. No, that can’t be. The connection I feel to him, the chemistry charging the air whenever we’re in the same room is too strong. Besides, Erik told me he was watching me. But what if they both were?
Determined to find out what else Kaiden has been keeping from me, I unleash the snooping. I rummage through the drawers but come up empty every time. When I tug on the lastdrawer, it’s locked. My eyes skitter over the top of the desk as I nibble on my lower lip.Bingo. I jam the pointy tip of a letter opener through the keyhole and jiggle it until I hear the satisfyingclick. I slide the drawer open. My eyebrows furrow at the only item inside. It’s an old sketch pad, slightly frayed at the edges, but as I pick it up, I can tell it’s very well taken care of.
Relaxing back into the chair, I let the pads of my fingers run down the smooth texture of the cover. The gesture feels hauntingly familiar. The second I open it, all my blood rushes into my ears as I read the words on the first page: “Property of” right above a watercolor painting of an intricate iris.
Could this—is this mine?
Fingers shaking, I thumb through the pages. A weird feeling crawls beneath my skin when I recognize the drawings—they’re all tattooed on Kaiden’s glorious body—the skull and snake on his chest, the raven on his forearm, the Anubis on his abdomen. Even the jester on his left shin. My gaze meets Kaiden’s on the next page. His features are softer, his teenage years still clinging to his bones. He doesn’t have the bump in the middle of his nose, and his hair is shorter and pushed back. But it’s him all right, complete with the infuriating, sexy smirk tugging at his lips.
Suddenly, the headache I had since waking up morphs into a fiery stab of pain that intensifies the throbbing in my temples by a hundredfold. I drop the sketchbook on the desk to press the heels of my palms into my eyes, but the ache only worsens. The office blurs as I’m transported to another room.
An easel sits before me, and charcoal-smeared fingers move fluidly over the drawing of an angel bowing on one knee as if in regret, its head hanging low and its wings spread wide at its back. Picking up an eraser pen, I add the finishing highlights to the drawing I’ve been slaving over for the last three weeks. I hope he’s going to love it. I’ve poured my heart into it, and it’s my favorite drawing I’ve done so far.
“Iris, honey, where are you?” a muffled voice comes through the door.
“In the studio,” I holler back.
There’s a knock on the door before it opens, and my mother appears in the doorway, her smile as bright as the sun as she rests her hip on the door frame. She folds her arms in front of her chest. “You pulled another all-nighter? You said you were going to sleep—”
