I don’t walk quickly. I don’t have to.
This ismyhouse.Myspace. And yet…. Every step is a little harder than it should be.
Her door is still modified, with the interior thumbturn removed, exterior keyed, surveillance set to feed to Ash’s line and mine. Layered security — physical, procedural, psychological. “You’re in a pretty cage, pet. Remember who holds the key,” I whisper aloud.
I open the door without knocking. I don’t let myself pause to think about why that feels necessary.
She doesn’t sit like something caged. Ember’s by the window. Not at the bed, not curled into a tight little self-pity knot, not asleep.
At the window.
For some reason, this bothers me. I don’t have a reason. Not really, just an inkling deep inside my gut.
The curtains are open halfway, and pale London light spills in, washing her skin in cool gray. She’s standing with her arms crossed under her chest, one hip leaned against the sill, her weight on one leg like she’s been there long enough to settle. Her hair’s still down, but it’s wilder now. The curls are unruly, frizzed and loose, catching that soft light where the copper goes almost gold at the edges. Her mouth is still a little swollen. Her eyes are colder than last night.
And she’s angry. Not feral, or flailing thank God. I don’t have the strength for it, but somehow this is worse.
No. Cold angry. Clean angry. That kind is more dangerous.
She looks at me like she’d scratch my face and then dare me to bleed on her.
“Back so soon?” Ember asks coolly. “What happened? Did London refuse to kneel for you today?”
“My disobedience,” I murmur, loving the way she fights me even now.
Her jaw tightens at that. That’s why I keep using it. It lands every time, and I thoroughly enjoy pissing her off.
“I’mnotyours,” she says.
“That sounds like hope,” I say softly. “Not a statement.”
Her nostrils flare. I step fully inside and let the door fall shut behind me. I don’t lock it. She probably notices that. I mean for her to.
She’s close enough now to read more.
Her cheeks are still pink high up near her eyes. Not embarrassment-pink. Heat-pink. Her breathing’s a touch shallow. Not panicked — no.Want. The aftermath of it. Her pupils are still just slightly too wide.
My attention flicks to her mouth. It’s parted, just a little. Something clicks in my brain, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
Memory comes flooding back of the conversation with Wraith.Mateo. That explains the color riding her cheekbones. The way her shoulders are set like she’s still vibrating under her skin. The tightness in her thighs. Vale has a serious talent for winding nerves up and leaving them ringing.
The thought makes something low in my chest flare. Not jealousy. I don’t do jealousy.
Possession.
That, I do.
I school my face back to impassive and nod at the window. “You’re not going to get that open. In case you were planning tojump, I’d rather you didn’t splatter yourself across the pavement just to make a point.”
She scoffs. “That wasn’t my plan.”
“Mm,” I say. “No. You’re smarter than that.”
Her eyes narrow, brow furrowing slightly at my words. “Was that a compliment?”
“It was an observation,” I say, ignoring the way my chest twists. “Don’t get sentimental.”
She pushes off the sill, turning to face me fully. She’s barefoot.Fuck. Somehow that shouldn’t matter. But it does.It matters. Barefoot in my house. Bare legs.Mysoap on her skin.Mysheets on her last night.Mycontract signed with her name directly under mine. That small, feral body in a space that has only ever held men who kill and sleep and leave.
