“What time are you finished letting old men drain your life force?”
“Probably one. Two, latest.”
“Perfect.” Paper rustled on his end. He was probably flipping through something and rewriting my day over it. “Car will be at the side entrance at fourteen hundred. Same driver as last time. You go straight downstairs after your call. No lingering for extra ‘just one more thing, Madeleine’ bullshit.”
I rolled onto my side, pulling my knees up, phone pressed between ear and pillow.
“Is Villain on fire? Are you summoning me as a strategic asset? A dynasty consultant? A very pretty hostage?”
He scoffed. “Villain’s always on fire. I’m summoning you as my girl. That’s it.”
There it was. The stupid, dangerouswifetreatment tucked under the wordgirlas casually as breathing.
“You could have just asked,” I said, trying to pretend my lungs hadn’t expanded on that sentence alone.
“I did. In Crow.”
He slid into dialect again, into the lower register he only used for me. “Ven amar tal ven duchan, amar ven Madeline. Tal ven harik, ven tal. Akar ven shev’tar.”
The words rolled through the speaker like he was saying them at my throat, not into a line.
“Translate,” he said.
My heart picked up speed. “You said… you want me in your day. In your arms. You want to hear my breathing in person instead of through a screen. You need me on your chest to calm your head.”
Silence for a moment.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice gone rough. “Perfect. You missed one word.”
My stomach dipped. “Which one?”
“Shev’tar. The way I use it with you? It’s closer to… anchor. Or… wife-shaped.”
Heat flooded my face. “That is not a direct translation.”
“Crow doesn’t have a direct translation for what you are yet. We keep breaking the language around you.”
I put my forearm over my eyes and tried very hard not to let that sentence wreck my entire morning.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered.
“You love it.”
Annoyingly, I did.
“What about you? What do your messages look like this morning?”
“Already checked in with my brothers. Luca’s at the casino. Bastion’s at one of the clubs. Rome’s pretending he doesn’t have a soft spot for some idiot gambler we keep bailing out.”
“And your mood?”
A pause. When he spoke again.
“Restless. I’ve had you on a screen and in my head for two weeks. Malice pulled something open and I haven’t been able to shut it again. Every meeting feels like an interruption.”
Warmth spread through my chest, mixed with guilt.
“I’m sorry,”
