Something cold skittered in Silas’s eyes. In a voice gone disturbingly light, he said, “The dusty friend I found in your room? Ah, yes, I wondered about that.”
It was a confusing experience, wanting to kiss and hit someone at the same time. Since it didn’t look like the kissing would be happening any time soon — and she was rapidly losing the desire to do so — Petra leaned into her anger.
She squirmed in his lap, trying to free herself from his unyielding grip. “Damn it, Silas, if you touched?—”
“Let me get this straight,” he drawled, speaking over her, “you did all of this for a dead man? You lied to Theodore Solbourne’s face, stole a powerful position, tracked me down, and traded yourself for aman.”
Petra stilled. It was a natural, instinctive reaction to the quiet menace that permeated every syllable, every soft word that left his lips. She wasn’t sure why she felt like she was suddenly sitting on a time bomb, but she knew it was true.
Hair still caught in his grip, it was all she could do to watch him as he digested that information, plucking out what he thought he knew and what he could only assume.
Her throat was almost too tight to get words out, but she did it. “I can’t tell if you’re jealous or disappointed.”
“Both.” It was a single, flat word, but it was somehow more terrifying than anything else he’d ever said to her.
Petra didn’t owe him any answers. If he wanted to believe that she’d risked everything for the memory of a lover, then that was his issue, not hers. But something in that blank stare, that flat inflection, the way he went almost preternaturally still beneath her… It wasn’t just scary. Itbotheredher.
A mean little part of her, embittered by the cruelty of the world, urged her to let him think whatever he wanted, but the part that had worked so hard to learn compassion felt almostbadfor him.
It was ridiculous. He didn’t have real feelings. He didn’t care about her. He wanted to use her just as Antonin did. What did it matter if she saw something almost hurt in that immediatewithdrawal from her? Even if she had all the time left on the Earth to try and fix whatever it was that was broken in Silas, she doubted she could.
But she didn’t like lying to him about this, either.
It pissed her off, but still, she said, “Well, don’t bother. Max and I weren’t like that.”
Silas didn’t thaw, but his fingers flexed in her hair. “What were you?”
“Family.”
If she expected him to soften, she would have been sorely disappointed. Silas appeared utterly unmoved. “What kind?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” he answered, eyes narrowed until the amber centers were barely visible, “because you’re a liar.”
It stung because it was true. It didn’t matter that he said it without any particular judgment — which would have been rich, coming from him. She still felt the sting of shame.
Max had worked so hard to break her of the habit.“You’re safe now,”he’d gently coached her, again and again.“You never need to lie to me, Pet, when there’s no chance I’ll abandon you. No matter what you do or say.”
But he had. He’d abandoned hertwice.And that wound had festered, pulling out old poisons until they oozed out of her in a constant, sour drip.
What would he think of me now?
“I’m not lying,” she snapped. “If you don’t believe me, that’s your problem. It doesn’t make a difference to me.”
Perhaps anticipating the direction of her thoughts, Silas stopped whatever it was she was about to say by pressing the pad of his thumb against her lips. He smoothed it back and forth when he growled, “If you think none of this matters, then you’re lying toyourself.There is a fuckin’ world of difference betweenyou sending me to get information on a professional rival and you doingall of thisbecause a family member was murdered.”
She saw it — the moment he put the pieces together. That dark, cold thing slithered back into his eyes. “Antonin Vanderpoel. You think he murdered Maximilian Dooraker.”
Petra had never spoken the words aloud. She didn’t dare. Even at that moment, when she believed no one would know except Silas, she hesitated.
“Petra.”Her name came out like the crack of a whip — not a shout, but with such quiet intensity she felt it land with all the snap of broken-in leather.
“Yes,” she finally forced herself to answer. “But it’s more likely that he ordered one of his followers to do it.”
“His followers?”
“The Protector of the Gloriae is in charge of investigations within the Temple, but he also commands the Ardeo.” She broke out in a fresh wave of cold sweat just saying the name aloud. Petra tugged on Silas’s shirt, trying to force him to reallylisten.“The Ardeo is what keeps every cathedral and every high ranking member of the Temple in check. They handle all Temple security and assets and secrets. They’repowerful,Silas.”
