Because she’s right… I made her my pawn.
But somewhere along the way, she started moving like aqueen.
Chapter 34
Wraith
The storm followed us home.
Rain slams against the townhouse windows in steady, uneven waves, turning London outside into a watercolor blur of gold and gray. Inside, it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before something breaks.
I find Rook in his study—jacket off, sleeves rolled, the veins in his forearms catching the low lamplight. He’s staring at the map spread across his desk like he could make it bleed answers if he glared hard enough. A half-empty glass of whiskey sits beside him, untouched.
“You wanted to talk,” I say.
He doesn’t look up. “Close the door.”
I do. The click sounds louder than it should, like a gunshot in an empty room. For a minute, nothing but taut silence stretches between us. Just the rain, the soft tick of the old clock, and the kind of tension that fills the air like smoke.
Then he says, “You bought her jewelry.”
Not a question. A charge. I exhale slowly, attempting to ground myself. “She needed something to match the dress.”
His gaze flicks up—ice blue and sharp. “So you decided to drape her in emeralds?”
“Could’ve left her wearing nothing,” I say dryly. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”
His jaw flexes. “Watch it.”
I meet his stare evenly. “You wanted her to play your part tonight.Eye candy, remember? I made sure she looked the part.”
“That wasn’t your call,” he argues.
“It wasn’t yours either,” I snap. “She’s not some toy you can wind up and set on the table, Rook.”
He stands abruptly, chair scraping back against the floor. “And what is she to you, Wraith? Another ghost you’re trying to save?”
The words land harder than I want them to. I take a slow breath, steadying my tone. “She’s… something I can’t seem to shake.”
He narrows his eyes. “You think I can?”
And there it is—the crack in the armor. The confession he didn’t mean to make. I’ve seen it coming for days. The way he watches her. The way she looks back.
“This isn’t about jewelry,” I say quietly. “Or control. You’re falling for her.”
Rook’s hand curls around the desk edge, knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I take a step closer. “You’re different around her. You think I don’t notice? The rest of them might not say it, but they feel it too.”
He laughs—a hard, humorless sound. “Soft. You’re calling me soft?”
“Barely holding it together,” I say. “And you know it.”
For a long beat, neither of us moves. The leader and the wolf. The King and the weapon he trusts most.
Then he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “She’s dangerous,” he mutters. “Not because of what she’s done—because of what she makes us want.”
I drop into the chair opposite him, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “You’re not wrong.”
