“This one,” she murmured. “On your wrist. When did you get it?”
I glanced down. The lines were sharp, coded with Crow glyphs and dynasty script most people couldn’t even read.
“Seventeen,” I said quietly.
“You got it when you were seventeen?”
“It’s the Handler’s Oath. That’s when I was given custody of my siblings. It’s the mark they branded me with when I signed for them.”
Her gaze snapped back to mine. “You had custody? Of your brothers and sisters?”
I nodded again.
She sat up straighter, her hand still resting on my chest. “That isinsanelyyoung.”
“Crow power is branded. It doesn’t wait for you to be ready.”
“But what power could you even have at seventeen?”
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers skimmed down her back, grounding myself in the feel of her while my mind spiraledelsewhere.That day.Seventeen. Nik beside me. Being handed Villain as if it was just another set of keys.
City and siblings. If one slipped, we lost both.
Madeline let out a sudden gasp, her hand slapping my chest. “Wait, if you were seventeen…” She paused. “I wasseven. Oh God. No, wait—you’re eleven years older so I was?—”
“Don’t.” I cut her off. “Don’t ever phrase it like that again. It creeps me the fuck out.”
She grinned, smug as hell. “Because I’m younger?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Because it makes me feel like a cradle robber.”
Her smile softened, her fingers brushing across my stomach. Before she could say anything else, the door chime rang out. She practically sighed in relief. “Thank God. Food.”
She slid off me, grabbed the edge of the bed, and reached toward the chair where I’d dropped yesterday’s shirt. She lifted it halfway, then paused. “Can I borrow this?”
I sat up. “That one’s got blood on it.”
She made a face. “Oh myGod. Do you own clothes that don’t have blood on them?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
She shook her head. “You have a problem.” She turned slightly, scanning the room. “Where are your clean T-shirts? I won’t bethatgirl who just goes through your wardrobe.” She paused. “Well… not while you’re still here.”
She winked.
My brain short-circuited. She was topless, wearing only the tiniest pair of panties I’d ever seen, holding a blood-stained shirt like it was her prize.
I pointed vaguely toward the wardrobe. “Top drawer. Left. Just—go for it. I’ll, uh… get the door.”
She grinned so big, clenching the shirt to her chest. “Oh my God. My adorable Crow is flusteredagain.”
“I’m not flustered.” I stood, walking away before I did something stupid.
“You are. And your back is extremely sexy. The tattoos. The crest. It’s giving Viking… with dynasty trauma.”
“Stop trying to flirt,” I called over my shoulder.
“Why?” she teased. “Is it working?”
