My boot hits pavement and Punk's voice cuts through the arctic air, her arm already up, flagging us down. Bodies turn, tracking the twins' movement down the street. I sometimes forget Asher's that athlete everyone loses their shit over.
Except here, usually nobody gives a damn. Parker had that part right at least. Veilarath doesn't genuflect for celebrity or fat bank accounts. That's the whole point of this frozen rock floating off the US coast. The only currency that matters here is who you know and what you can survive.
The island's savage when it comes to privacy and protecting their occupants, whether you own real estate here or visiting. Snap a photo without permission and they don't just confiscate your equipment—they throw your ass on the next boat out with a lifetime ban stamped across your forehead. The kind of ban that follows you home, destroys your career, makes you unemployable.
Most paps aren't stupid enough to test it. The ones who are? They learn fast that Veilarath's elite don't just protect their privacy, they weaponize it. One wrong click and you're not just losing a paycheck. You're losing everything.
I appreciate the brutality of it. The absoluteness. No second chances, no negotiations, no bribes that'll make it disappear.
For obvious reasons.
Asher’s stare brands my cheek as we trail Punk and Atlas toward the store. Lucinda's already taken point, shopping list clutched like a battle plan.
I skip to the front and away from Asher.
“What are you doing?” Luce asks, her eyes flying over my shoulder when I interrupt her search for herbs and spices. “Are you two fighting already?”
“What?” Shit. Are we? No. Surely not.
“—Nah,” his voice brushes the nape of my neck as he curls an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “Right?” He nips at my throat.
Turning in his grip and coming face-to-face with his chest, my fingers trace their way up his neck, tracing the leaves that disappear behind his ear.
I bury my hands into the back of his hair. “I'm sorry about Parker.” I’m testing the words before I ask the one question I want to know. “What happened between you two?”
His face remains passive, mouth set in a straight line. His jaw locks tight, throwing shadows in all the wrong places that somehow work.
My thumbs rest on either side as I study his eyes. I once thought they reminded me of the ocean, but that isn't it. They're winter. The color of ice with fracture lines running deep beneath the surface.
His grip tightens, pulling me in until our heartbeats collide. He dips his forehead to mine. “Don’t apologize. Not to me. Parker and I are nothing serious. I’m sure we’ll work it out.”
We have a bad habit of never checking our surroundings any time we’re together. I’ll blame it on the fact that I have Luce, and Punk…but deep down I know it’s because whenever we’re together, the world doesn’t exist.
His tongue swipes his bottom lip. “Can I ask you something? Since we are testing this no zone thing?”
“Anything,” I say, but my smile dies quickly because why the hell did I say that? I walked right into a trap.Weak.
His thumb traces my cheekbone. The touch feels too soft for the violence gathering in his eyes. His pupils blow wide, and the air shifts around us.
Time stretches. Luce's warnings crawl up my spine. Jord's doubts sink into my ribs.
What if they see something I'm too close to recognize? What lives under all that careful control?
“Does he hurt you?”
My smile slips. The words hit harder than a blow to the ribs.
“You don't need to lie to me,” he adds softly, the veins in his neck swelling to the surface.
This is deep. Too deep. It’s a danger zone if I’d ever felt one. It also shows just how much he’s been watching. More than I gave him credit for.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “No, he doesn’t hurt me.”
I step out of his grip, reaching for the first thing I can find. “So! Are you going to teach me how to make this famous dish you were talking about?” Changing the subject has never worked on Asher, and when it does, he makes sure that I know he isn’t letting it go.
But right now, he’s not letting up. The twitch in his jaw only hardens, his eyes dead on me.
I sigh, lowering the herbs to the rack and stepping back into his space. His breathing is measured, but it’s barely controlled.
