“More like I won’t allow her to leave.” Cain nods slowly. “She’ll draw Dagon right to us. If he’s dead, his operation will fall to shambles and will be primed for a hostile takeover.”
My brows slam down. “You want to get into thedruggame? We’re assassins, not fucking smugglers—”
“We are whatever I say we are.” Cain’s stare is brimming with warning, silently telling me to stay in lineor else. “And Dagon’s trade brings in nine figures yearly. It wouldn’t hurt to absorb that into our portfolio. The Nighthawks ought to expand outside of just killing people, don’t you think?”
“Not particularly—”
“It was a rhetorical question. Bottom line: Ember’s staying. Let Dagon come to his death for her.” His eyes move to the computer screen, and something strange shines in them—I’d say it was emotion, if I didn’t know better. Cain is incapable of feeling emotions. “If you don’t mind, I have my own Chosen to tend to.”
Ah. Cain’s elusive chosen. A woman he apparently has a preexisting connection with, and is currently tormenting with some garden-variety stalking.
“You planning on ever actually bringing her here?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Once the necessary arrangements have been made, of course,” he replies. “But that’s none of your concern. You have Viper to be concerned with—”
“Her name is Ember.”
“Not to me. Ember has no value or meaning; Viper has an abundance of both.” He carelessly flicks a hand. “Now, get out, and get a handle on yourself. Your chosen will have trials to attend to in three months. And believe me when I say, you donotwant her to fail. If she does, what I’ll do will make Dagon look kind in comparison.”
Fuck.
Chapter Twenty
Max
She sleeps for a day and a night. It’s longer than 12 hours; closer to20.Of course, this freaks me out, so I call the doctor up here. When he tries to dismiss my worries, I threaten to get him up here at gunpoint. He checks Ember over, reiterates that she’s fine—just exhausted—and leaves again.
I only leave her side to work on camera and motion sensor installation, grab my laptop, or order food. Now that I have her back, I’m loathe to part with her, to evenimagineleaving her.
When her eyes start fluttering close to her twenty-first hour of being unconscious, my heart feels like it soars, and relief fills me until I’m brimming with it. I shift closer to her on the bed like an eager puppy waiting for its owner to awaken.
I feel ridiculous and completely out of my depths, yet also… I feel profoundly right. Ember’s been the missing piece of my life’s puzzle for far too long. It doesn’t matter if she ever remembers me or not; I’m making her mine either way.
Is it selfish? Sure. Cruel? Compared to Dagon, no. Socially acceptable? By no means, but neither of us have lived socially acceptable lives during our separation.
Ember’s hands restlessly shift around the mattress. I tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear, rubbing the backs of my fingers against her cheeks in hopes to wake her the hell up. I want to see her eyes, I want to see herlively,even if that means trying to kill me. Anything would be better than the catatonic state she’s been in for the last day.
A slight groan escapes her lips. Her eyes crack open, blinking sleepily, and one of her hands rises. For a second, I think it’s to push me off, but then her hand touches her neck. Her brows furrow, and anxiety flashes through her slitted gaze.
“My necklace,” she mumbles. “Where’s my necklace?”
Shock knocks the breath out of me.
Her necklace?
As in, the constellation necklaceIgave her, one that she absolutelyrefusedto part with? The one she would touch and fiddle with every time I came to visit her during college?
Holy fuck, does she remember me?
“Flame?” my voice is far more uncertain than it should be.
God, please let her remember me.Please. Please fucking let her remember me so that she can start trusting me again, so that she’ll tell me what Dagon has on her, so that she stares up at me with the adoring gaze that used to inflate my ego until I thought I’d burst.
Her expression smooths. Her hand drops, and her eyes fully open. When they land on me, they immediately grow jaded, but there’s confusion there, too. Did she have a memory of me return? Did she dream of me?
“Flame, what were you dreaming about?”
Her gaze shutters. “Good morning to you too, Maximus. I slept well, thanks so much for asking—”
