We can’t rely on whatever intel Dayn might offer either. He’s still a dragon; any insight he offers is automatically compromised. No one volunteers the most efficient ways to kill their own kind.
A shadow drapes over my page. I don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
But I do anyway.
“You’re going to give yourself a headache,” Chad says.
Of course he’s here. Of course he’s looming over my table like the last person I need standing this close, smelling of night air and that metallic, not-quite-mortal heat I shouldn’t remember as vividly as I do.
“I already have one,” I say, closing the book halfway. “It’s manageable.”
His jaw flexes. He studies me like I’m a report he’s still obligated to file.
“Did you figure anything out?” he asks, voice even.
“So far, just that we’re rather screwed,” I say, finally leaning back and rubbing my eyes.
I look at him properly. He looks tired, the skinaround his green eyes tight with a tension that’s unrelated to sleep. “What do you want, Chad?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, a gesture that seems too casual for the gravity in his expression. “I’m leaving.”
My heart does a stupid little stutter-step. “Leaving? What? As in, defecting again? Because the timing would be truly impeccable.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up, a ghost of a smile. “No. I want to go out there. To do something.” He gestures vaguely toward the window, toward the world that’s about to end. “I can’t just sit here waiting for everyone to knock the door down. I was a spy for Heathborne. I know some of the clearbloods’ old protocols, their fall-back positions. With the dragons hitting them too, they’ll be disorganized. I could at least help on that front. There might be an opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what? To get yourself killed?” The idea is insane. A half-demon, ex-spy waltzing into the middle of a three-way war.
“To prove I’m on your side,” he says, his voice dropping, losing its casual edge. A shimmer of that intensity is back, the thing that simmers just under his skin. “For real this time.” He steps closer, and that quiet, dangerous side of his aura seems to slide into my space before he does. “I’m telling you because I’m not running. This isn’t a betrayal… You still have the ring, remember.”
My throat tightens as I swallow. His eyes seem to track the movement.Yes. I haven’t forgotten.
“If I even think about turning...” His fingers brush mine as he takes my hand in order to turn it, palm up. “You can do whatever you want. Stun me. Paralyze me… Set me on fire.”
My skin prickles where he touches it and I find myself catching my breath.
A kill switch—the most profound gesture of trust a person could make. One I still feel extremely uncomfortable carrying.
His thumb absently traces a circle on my wrist, just above my pulse. I pull away, fumbling with the ring in my pocket.
His idea is insane. Reckless. But it's also the first plan I've heard all day that isn't just ‘brace for impact.’
I look from his face—those eyes, more demon-dark than I remember, that red gleam catching on me—to the text before me. I don’t have much time to analyze this.
My chair scrapes against the floor as I push it back.
“No,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He frowns, confusion drawing his brows together. “No, you don't trust me?”
“No,” I repeat, meeting his gaze directly. “I'm not sitting here holding your leash.” I shrug on my coat, using the motion to put a few more inches between us. “I'm coming with you.”
34
CHAD
The words hang in the air between us. My first instinct, the human part of me, is to refuse. To lock her in this library and swallow the key. It’s suicide out there.
My second instinct—the one Brynn unknowingly, yet fatally, unlocked—slithers up from the pit of my stomach with a low, possessive growl, agreeing instantly.To have her close. To feel her presence like a brand against the cold night.
