It terrifies me. Because it means I matter.
In a world like his, being someone’s vulnerability is the most dangerous thing you can be.
Orpheus’s thumb brushes my cheek again, slower.
“I’m going to keep you safe,” he says.
I swallow hard. “Orpheus . . .”
He leans in, close enough that I can smell him, smoke, and something dark and rich underneath.
Not kissing me. Not taking. Just close.
Like he’s testing the line.
Like he’s reminding me he could cross it at any moment, and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s choosing restraint.
“I’m not letting you go back to that house tonight,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes briefly, exhausted. “Fine.”
When I open them, he’s still watching me like I’m something he can’t let out of his sight.
The worst part is, for the first time in a long time, I don’t want him to.
Because safety has a cost.
I can already feel what he’s going to demand in return.
Not money. Not favors. Truth.
I don’t know if I can survive giving him that.
Chapter
Ten
Orpheus
I don’t remember falling asleep.
That’s the first thing that unsettles me when the world starts to return.
Not the light filtering through the heavy curtains. Not the soft hum of the club far below.
It’s the absence of memory. It’s the weight of the body next to me.
I haven’t slept beside anyone in more decades than I can remember. Not like this. Not without intent. Not without lust driving every touch and every breath. No woman has slept next to me like this. I don’t think in my entire lifespan.
Yet, here she is.
Cassia lies on her side, curled slightly toward me like she belongs there, her blonde hair spilling across the pillow, her face slack with real sleep. No tension. No fear etched into her brow. Just rest.
Actual rest.
The sight hits me harder than blood ever could.
I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest. The way her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks. The faint crease between her brows tells me even her peace is hard won.
