What if there’s some pervy peephole behind that mirror and Declan’s watching me on the other side? Just because he’s hotter than sin doesn’t mean he can’t be a creep, right?
Too tired to care if Declan’s getting his jollies, I drop down on the edge of the bed, unlace my boots, then peel my pants down my legs and drape them over the end of the bed.
I reach for one of the T-shirts. A faded dark gray with the House of Ink & Iron logo spelled out on the front. Staring at my tattoo-free skin, I let out a laugh. I’m hardly the right person to advertise a tattoo shop. But it’s clean and soft, so I slip it over my head. It pools around my hips and when I stand, falls to my knees, swallowing me whole. The clean, soapy scent mixed with something darker fills my nose. Declan’s scent. Heat flares low in my belly and I press my thighs together to relieve the ache.
I move the other items to the top of the dresser and dig around my bag for my phone. A warning pops up, then another.
Low battery.
No service.
Fantastic.
I search my bag for my charger and find the cord. After a quick search, I can’t find a single outlet that will work with my cord in this museum.
Should I go next door and ask Declan for a charger? Does it matter, if I can’t get service out here? I walk over to the window and the bars in the top right corner of my phone flicker from one to two.
Quickly, I tap out a message to Wren.
With Declan Sterling. Researching town history. Service is crappy. Call you in the morning.
There. Enough to let her know who I’m with but not enough to make her worry and call the FBI to search for me.
Unless I don’t make it through the night.
Stop it.
…sending…
Finally, a check mark indicating the message was sent blinks. Then my phone powers down.
Damn. Hopefully she gets it and doesn’t freak out when I don’t respond to any follow-up texts she might send.
I pull the heavy covers back and crawl onto the high mattress. The bed’s huge, chilly, and smells faintly musty but the sheets are soft. I roll from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable, desperate to clear my mind. With my phone dead, I can’t even listen to one of my bedtime meditations to ease myself into sleep.
Declan’s right next door.
Does he sleep naked?The question throbs through me, more insistent than the brand on my wrist.
Disgusted with myself, I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my breathing. Eventually, I start to drift into the slow, easy waves leading to sleep.
A creak splinters the silence and my eyes snap open.
Is that the old house settling? Or is something breaking in?
I clutch the sheets tighter. If it’s something bad, surely Declan heard it too. Everything’s fine. Probably.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Declan
The Sterling housegroans around me. Normally I don’t notice all the little noises, but with Emery here, I need to stay vigilant. Every sound could be a threat.
Knowing she’s just on the other side of the wall won’t allow my body to settle. My ink crawls restlessly under my skin, itching like it remembers the way she touched it. The way she was marked.
I press my palm over my chest, willing the lines there to still. They don’t. They haven’t since she came prying into my life.
I focus on the quiet. The wind sliding through the trees outside my windows. Nothing else. No hoofbeats. No iron tang in the air. No pressure in my skull that tells me the Rider’s near.
