“Speaking of hearts, does yours still want Nash?”
“Hmm, it depends on what day of the week it is and whether he bothers to show for school.”
I snorted. “Okay, that might be slightly my fault. What else have I missed?”
“Oh, not much…except all the gossip about you and the Raven Crew.” Her grin widened wickedly. “Some of the theories are pure gold.”
“Like?” I braced myself. I didn’t know why I asked. Did I really want to torture myself with the babble of my peers? I didn’t give a shit what they said about me, and yet…I waited on the edge of the bed for Poppy to dish.
“My personal favorite: you’ve been inducted into the Raven harem as their sex slave.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. “Raven harem? Sex slave? You’re kidding?”
She shook her head. “Wish. All the girls think you’re selfishly keeping them for yourself. As if Kreed wasn’t enough for you.”
I busted out laughing. “That. Is. The. Stupidest. Shit,” I said between fits of giggles that shook my belly so hard I fell back on the bed.
Poppy collapsed beside me, holding her stomach as her laugh joined mine. “I thought you might get a kick out of it.”
It took a few minutes for the foolishness of the rumors to fade, leaving both of us breathless. “I really needed that.”
“Me too,” Poppy said, turning her head to the side to look at me.
“Can you stay?”
“Wasn’t planning on leaving.” She scooted closer, shoulder brushing mine. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Should we order food and binge-watch something trashy?”
“That sounds better than any date I’ve been on.”
She flipped her hair. “I’d make a damn good boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Honestly.”
“Fuck yes, you would,” I agreed, smirking.
I wasn’t whole—not yet.
I wasn’t safe—not really.
But Poppy was here.
And across the hall, through that thin ribbon of golden light…Kreed Corvo was still close enough to touch.
For now, that was enough.
If someone had toldme even a week ago that I’d be living under the same roof as Donovan Corvo again, voluntarily, no less, I would’ve laughed in their face before telling them to go straight to hell. Yet here I was, eight days into this arrangement, surviving off a steady diet of caffeine and raw nerves, pretending with every fiber of my being he didn’t exist.
It was genuinely amazing how two people could inhabit the same sprawling house and never once cross paths. The estate was large enough, certainly with two wings and more rooms than I’d bothered to count. Maybe it was dumb luck that kept us apart. Maybe he was deliberately avoiding me the same way I was definitely, consciously avoiding him.
No late-night run-ins in the hallways when insomnia drove me downstairs. No awkward glances across the massive dining table during the few meals I’d forced myself to eat. Not a single glimpse of the notorious Crew lord in his natural habitat. I almost started to delude myself into thinking he didn’t live here or that he had moved into a hotel.
The delusion crashed into me on Wednesday morning on my way to the kitchen to get my ritual coffee before school when I turned the corner, hair still damp from my shower, wearing shorts and one of Kreed’s old football tees, and slammed straight into the devil himself.
The impact sent me stumbling backward, my shoulder blade connecting painfully with the door frame. Donovan stood towering over me in the gleaming kitchen. He was immaculate despite the early hour, dressed in perfectly pressed dark slacks and a crisp white dress shirt rolled precisely to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle. Not a single strand of his silver-streaked dark hair was out of place. His expression didn’t waver even slightly, not even as the porcelain cup in his hand sloshed dangerously from the impact of our collision, dark liquid threatening to spill over the rim.
“Miss Steele,” he said smoothly, recovering without so much as a blink of surprise.
Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to run, to retreat back upstairs and hide in my room until he left for whatever shady business occupied his days. My pulse kicked up immediately, jumping from resting to racing in the space of two heartbeats, but instead of fleeing, I forced my spine straight and squared my shoulders. My chin lifted in what I hoped looked like defiance rather than terror. “Morning,” I managed.
He nodded toward the expensive chrome coffeepot sitting on the marble counter, then proceeded to pour another cup with a casual ease. “I assumed you’ve settled back into your old room comfortably?”
