Ridiculous concerns, but the bond makes rational thought increasingly difficult when she's not in sight.
Twenty-three minutes later, I hear her footsteps on the stairs. Measured, careful steps that suggest either nervousness or calculation—possibly both. I close the file I've been pretending to read and turn toward the office door just as she appears in the doorway.
Every coherent thought abandons my brain.
The dress fits her like it was crafted specifically for her body—which, considering the skill of my usual tailor and the measurements I'd provided, it essentially was. The emerald silk skims her curves without clinging, the deep color transforming her pale skin into porcelain and making her eyes look like storm-touched seas. Her hair falls in dark waves over one shoulder, revealing the elegant line of her neck.
She's beautiful. Not just attractive or appealing, but genuinely, devastatingly beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight and my hands itch to touch.
"Will this be acceptable?" she asks, and there's something in her voice that suggests she knows exactly what effect she's having.
"It will suffice," I manage.
She raises an eyebrow at my tone, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "High praise from someone who owns the most exclusive club in the city."
The teasing note in her voice is new—a development from our week of careful coexistence. She's been testing boundaries, offering small glimpses of who she might be when she's not actively planning escape routes. This version of her, confident and slightly playful, does dangerous things to my self-control.
"We should go," I say before I can do something stupid like tell her how stunning she looks.
The carriage ride to Vestige passes in carefully maintained silence. I’d usually fly but I chose not to embarrass her by carrying her around again. She sits across from me rather than beside me, maintaining proper distance while staying close enough that the bond's pressure remains manageable. Every so often, I catch her studying me with the same intensity I'm trying not to direct at her.
The problem is that proximity makes everything harder to ignore. The way she moves with unconscious grace, the subtle scent of the soap she uses, the occasional flash of genuine emotion across her features when she thinks I'm not watching. A week of being near her constantly has made me acutely aware of details I have no business noticing.
Like the way she holds herself when she's nervous—shoulders straight but hands clasped tightly in her lap. Or how she unconsciously touches her lower lip when she's thinking.Small things that speak to deeper vulnerabilities she works hard to hide.
Vestige's exterior glows against the winter night, obsidian walls reflecting the light from enchanted sconces. The usual crowd waits behind rope barriers, hoping for admission to spaces they'll never be wealthy or connected enough to access. My carriage passes them without stopping, pulling directly up to the private entrance reserved for ownership and VIP guests.
"Stay close," I tell Heidi as we exit the carriage. "Don't wander, don't accept drinks from anyone but staff I personally introduce you to, and don't leave my sight."
She nods, but I catch the way her eyes scan the crowd with professional interest. Old habits, probably—cataloging exits and opportunities even when she's not actively planning theft.
The moment we enter Vestige proper, the atmosphere washes over us like a physical force. Heat, sound, the press of bodies moving to music that seems to pulse with its own life. The main floor churns with dancers and drinkers, all beautiful, all dangerous in their own ways. Smoke from enchanted pipes creates hazy clouds that shift color with the light, and the air itself seems charged with possibility and threat.
Heidi's hand finds my arm automatically—whether for comfort or guidance, I'm not sure. The contact sends heat racing through my veins, and the bond's constant ache eases to barely noticeable pressure.
"This is..." she breathes, voice barely audible over the music.
"Overwhelming?" I suggest, placing my free hand over hers to keep her anchored to my side.
"Magnificent," she corrects, and the wonder in her voice catches me off guard. I suppose it looks different when she can take it in, not searching for places to hide.
She's not afraid. Nervous, yes, but not cowering or looking for escape routes. Instead, she's drinking in the spectacle withthe appreciation of someone who understands artistry when she sees it. The realization that she can see Vestige the way I do—as something beautiful rather than just profitable—does something warm and dangerous to my chest.
We make our way through the crowd toward the VIP stairs, and I become acutely aware of the attention she's drawing. Not the obvious, predatory stares that would require immediate correction, but something subtler. Appreciative glances, speculative looks, the kind of interest that marks her as someone worth knowing.
It shouldn't bother me. Beautiful women draw attention in places like this—it's part of the atmosphere, part of what makes Vestige successful. But every lingering look sends possessive heat through my veins, every appreciative glance makes my jaw clench with the effort of maintaining civilized behavior.
Halfway across the floor, a young xaphan with silver hair and expensive clothes steps directly into our path. His wings are pristine white—marking him as minor nobility—and his smile is polished in the way that suggests he's used to getting what he wants through charm alone.
"Mihalis," he says with the easy familiarity of someone who doesn't understand that using my first name uninvited is a privilege few possess. "Good to see you here tonight. And who might this lovely creature be?"
His gaze settles on Heidi with obvious appreciation, lingering on the elegant line of her throat and the way the emerald dress showcases her figure. The look is respectful enough—barely—but something primal and violent stirs in my chest at the sight of another male cataloging her attractions. He probably thinks she’s some sex slave he can buy once I’m done for the night. Which makes me angrier than I should feel in a city where that’s usually true.
"She's with me," I reply, keeping my voice level through sheer force of will.
"Of course, of course." His smile doesn't waver, though something sharper flickers in his eyes. "I don't believe we've been introduced though. I'm Caelum Thorne."
He extends his hand toward Heidi with the expectation that she'll accept the greeting. A perfectly reasonable social interaction that should prompt nothing more than mild annoyance at his presumption.
