“Congratulations,” she bites out. “You’ve also succeeded in making me furious.”
Her eyes are glossy, but she doesn’t cry. Of course she doesn’t. She just pulls in a breath that shakes a little at the edges and straightens her spine against the wall.
“Message received,” she says again, voice flat now. “Can I go back to my cookies, or am I under some new no-fun directive too?”
“Go,” I say, stepping back.
The space between us feels wrong. Cold.
She slips past me, shoulder brushing mine, and heads for the kitchen without looking back.
I lean my head against the wall for a second, eyes shut, swallowing down the urge to go after her, haul her back, apologize with my mouth instead of my words.
Footsteps approach. I drag myself upright just as Brodie appears at the end of the hall, phone in hand, taking in my face with a quick, assessing glance.
“Brady’s on with state,” he says. “Wants you two available in an hour if they decide they’re in the mood to listen to civilians.”
“Civilians,” Tallulah repeats from the kitchen, voice bright and brittle. “Rude.”
Brodie’s gaze flicks from her back to me. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but his mouth twists.
Poor bastard, those eyes say.
You’re in it now.
He’s not wrong.
NINETEEN
BRAN
Hourslater,weendup in the barn because Tallulah is vibrating like a live wire with leftover tension and anger, and I won’t let her discharge it on Nightjar.
“We need to do some self-defense training,” I tell her.
“That’s what you’re here for,” she argues.
“If I’m ever not around, it will come in handy to have some basic skills. Let’s go.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and slits her eyes. “You just want to throw me on the ground,” she says.
“If I wanted you on the ground,” I say, “you’d already be there.”
Heat flares across her face, and she shifts, dropping her arms and clenching her hands. Her nipples stand out, hard littlepoints against her top. Her reaction hits my bloodstream too fast, and my cock thickens in response to her obvious arousal.
“Fine.” She grits the words out and brushes past me, heading toward the barn. I watch her go for a moment, trying to get my body under control.
This might not be the best of ideas.
Kael’s words echo in the back of my skull:Hands to yourself.
Brodie has a mat in the center of the barn, and there’s enough open space for footwork and falls. Dust motes spin in the winter light slanting through the high windows.
Twig toes the edge of the mat. “What’s first? Punching? Kicking? How to murder a man with a hair clip?”
“Escape,” I say. “You’re not taking Henry down. You’re creating space and getting out.”
“How practical,” she mutters.
