I swallow hard, the memory of Wraith’s kiss still ghosting my lips.
It had felt like power at the time, mixed with something like hatred. For the man who ruined my life and stole the brother I love fiercely.
Now? It just feels like a warning.
Chapter 21
Rook
The door clicks shut behind her—a soft sound that does nothing for the tension in the room. The silence she leaves behind feels like a detonation.
Six chairs. Six plates. Five men and a ghost.
Wraith’s the first one I look at. He hasn’t moved since she left. His glass of whiskey sits untouched, condensation dripping down the sides onto the table. He’s staring through it like it holds answers.
I set my knife down, slow and precise, letting the sound slice through the quiet. “What thefuckis your problem?”
He blinks once. “My problem?”
“Yes, yourproblem.” I lean back in my chair, folding my arms. “You’ve been off since this morning, and tonight you can’t even look her in the eye. So, tell me the truth—are you slipping, or is she getting to you?”
Wraith’s gaze lifts, sharp and dangerous. “Nothinghappened.”
Across the table, Vale snorts, lazy and loud. “Oh,somethinghappened.” He leans back, grin spreading like oil. “Our wolf looks like he got a little too close to the fire.”
“Vale,” I warn.
He raises his brows, feigning innocence. “What? Just saying what we’re all thinking. The man’s sweating guilt like perfume.”
Wraith’s chair scrapes across the marble as he stands. “You want to repeat that?”
Vale’s smile widens. “Gladly.”
“Sit down,” I order, voice sharp enough to draw blood. Neither moves to do so and I find myself growing more murderous by the second.
Saint exhales through his nose and pushes back from the table. “I’m not sitting through another pissing match.”
“Sit,” I say without raising my voice.
He freezes mid-step, jaw flexing. “Caelum—”
“Sit.”
It’s not a suggestion. He lowers himself again, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a prayer and a curse wrapped in one.
Across from me, Ash sits perfectly still—hands folded, green eyes cutting between us, cataloguing everything like data points. The man rarely speaks unless he’s dissecting you.
Finally, he does. “You’re wasting energy,” he says softly.
“Explain,” I reply.
“She’s not cracking because she’s scared,” Ash continues. “She’s waiting, watching, calculating her options and testing weak points. You can feel it.”
Vale grins. “That’s what makes it fun.”
Saint’s glare could strip paint. “You find this fun?”
“Of course,” Vale says smoothly. “Pain’s just truth in another language.”
