He raised his eyebrows at her, already in the process of lighting another cigarette. “Depends. Are you willing to make me feel better?”
His voice, husky and seductive from overuse, kissed along her skin, raising goosebumps in its trail.
In some ways, this wasexactlythe St. Silas she was used to. He was trying to disquiet her, to frighten her away, because he also felt the bite of the tether between them tightening. He wanted to return to their old dynamic just as she did—where he was the Saint of Silence and she was his ghost-seer—but Leena no longer thought that was possible, no matter what she’d said the previous night.
Ever since St. Silas had buried that young Algaraan Black Coat at her pleas, something had been growing between them, slow and lingering, unnoticed by either of them until it had spread. Tonight was its crucible—for it either to burn or to solidify. It seemed to Leena that they both danced around these two eventualities, unsure which one of them would lead to ruin.
“Does that mean you are not well?” It took a shoring of strength for Leena to continue onward with the conversation, despite his attempts at evasion.
St. Silas didn’t immediately answer as he inhaled again from his cigarette. “If you are unwilling to come into my bed, Miss Al-Sayer, then I strongly suggest you go to yours.”
Leena only just managed to keep her voice steady. There was a rawness to him tonight that was utterly new—or perhaps not new, but previouslyhidden.Whether it stemmed from the act of saving the child or the accusation he thought she’d made against him earlier, she did not know. Especially as he’d admitted to not takingconfessions from children. This realization softened her look. “You are very frank tonight.”
“I find the need for tact has worn itself out this evening.”
He didn’t look worn out, Leena thought to herself, watching him from beneath her lashes. Instead, energy poured from him in floods, and she could almost see his mind working. The only hint of fatigue was the darkened smudges beneath his eyes.
Sometimes, she had caught him looking exhausted, but he seemed to work past even that. In the very early mornings before the start of their consultations, she’d often seen him returning from what looked to be vigorous exercise at the gentlemen’s club, sweat darkening his hair to a midnight black, his muscles strengthened and defined from endless activity, before he disappeared into his private rooms, undoubtedly for his bath. His energy was ceaseless, and not for the first time did she wonder if he ever slept.
Leena fought through her own growing response to him, because she knew it was becoming very dangerous. “I will leave you now.” She curtseyed. “I have only come to rectify what I said earlier—”
“There is no need,” he cut in without expression.
“It was not you I was speaking to.”
“Was it not?” Still that aloofness.
“No. I saw the ghost of the man who beat the boy standing over him. It was tohimthat I made the accusation.”
There was a breath between them. Whatever she had said seemed to momentarily arrest him. Finally, he ground out, “Is the ghost with you now?”
She shook her head.
He watched her for a long moment from behind the thin tendrils of smoke. In the cluster of trees that encircled the courtyard, she heard the first trills of birds. Soon, the city would start to awaken, rousing its inhabitants and forcing them from their beds. All of that seemed to Leena like a faraway thing—as though the city might stir in the background, but she would always be herestanding in a courtyard just before dawn, beside a man who was neither friend nor enemy.
It was not lost on her that, twice now, the awakening world had witnessed something unchangeable shifting between them.
St. Silas’s next question surprised her. “Why is it so vital that you correct my assumption?”
“Because it is the truth,” Leena replied stubbornly, although the way his eyes had sharpened on her face made her nearly doubt it. It was not curiosity in his expression, but a harsh inquisition. It was clear he was not satisfied with her answer.
“Could it not wait?”
She was confused now. It felt as if they were speaking of two different topics, and she was scrambling to link them together. “Could what wait?”
His gaze snaked down the entire length of her, the cigarette all but forgotten in his fingers. “You haven’t even given yourself a moment to change. Blood still stains your hemlines. You have not slept. Yet it took precedence that you find me at the first opportunity, to tell me that I was mistaken about your opinion of me. That you knew I had not harmed the boy.”
The porch had become a precipice. If she took a step either forward or backward, she would fall. Still, for better or for worse, she marched on. “I could not sleep otherwise.”
“Why not?” St. Silas’s question did not hold a sliver of softness. It was hard and bludgeoning, forcing an answer she did not know how to give.
Leena did not respond, wrapping her arms around herself to stave off the chill, her head turning to view the sky, which was just beginning to lighten.
“Miss Al-Sayer.” He said her name impatiently. “Whatis your opinion of me?”
He was a grave robber digging through the soil for the truths she had buried inside her body. But he would not have that truth. Notwhen he was so unforthcoming with his own. “Why does it matterto youwhat my opinions are?” she responded.
From her peripheral vision, she could sense St. Silas’s displeasure with her in the way he dragged at his cigarette. She expected him to reply with a cutting laugh at the idea that her thoughts would hold any importance to him. She expected his mockery. With a raised chin and turned gaze, she waited forit.
