“What in hell?” Dover grumbles as I slide under the covers beside his mate.
“I need to vent.”
Mar casts him a pleading look. He groans, scooping up his pillow and stumbling from the bed. “I’ll be in Kai’s room.”
“I love you!” The door slams shut. Mar turns to me. “This better be good.”
“Zadyn kissed me.”
Her eyes gleam. “Oh, it’s good. Tell me everything.”
When I’m finished recounting our makeout session in the town square, Mar slumps back against the headboard, looking pleased with herself.
“Iknewit,” she gushes.
“But now he won’t even look at me. You know what, though? It’s for the best. Things with Jace are complicated enough. To even add someone else into the mix, let alone my familiar—” I shudder.
“First off”—she holds up a finger—“Jace is not a factor in this equation. He is still engaged.”
“Yet he still came all the way to Vod to help rescue me. I know you want to keep minimizing things with us, but Jace loves me. I know he does.”
And if I’m being honest, there is this stupidly hopeful part of me that still loves him.
Kissing Zadyn had felt good—like a cool salve on a fresh burn. For a moment, I almost forgot about that dull ache in my chest. The one Jace left there. I forgot about missing him. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit guilty about that.
But Mar is right. He’s not a factor here. And he never will be again.
“That has never been up for debate.” She sighs. “I just want what’sbest for you. Someone who won’t hurt you. Intentionally or unintentionally.”
“I know.”
When I finally drag myself upstairs, Zadyn is sitting in the wide leather chair across from the bed, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He stirs when I shut the door.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, slinking back into bed.
“You didn’t.” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long pull.?*
I nestle into the pillow, facing him. We outright stare at each other as he sets down the drink and drags his pointer finger along the rim of the glass. My breathing quickens.
“Listen,” he finally says, glancing away from me. “I’m sorry if that made you…uncomfortable earlier.”
“It didn’t.”
His gaze flickers up to mine.
“You glamoured us. Were you just taking extra precautions or something?”
“Yeah. Or something.”
The air around us grows thicker, making me aware of every minuscule move he makes—the twitch of his finger against the glass, the pulse of blood flowing through the veins in his neck, the slight darkening of his eyes.
I reach out to pat the space behind me. Without breaking our stare, he climbs onto the bed. We match postures, an inch of space between us. I can smell the whiskey on his lips. I think about leaning forward to taste it for myself.
“What are we doing?” His voice is barely a whisper.
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
He gives an exasperated sigh and closes his eyes. “I don’t think I have to. I think you know.”
