His lips twitch, like he’s struggling not to laugh.
I want to strangle him and kiss him in equal measure.
The thought horrifies me, and I shove past him, needing to escape the chaos inside me.
“Elias Kent, we’re just warming up. You’re up to something—something important enough for you to risk everything—and I’m going to find out what that is.”
Whirling around at the threshold, I glare at him.
But his expression has me scrambling back—a prey who knows she’s pushed too far.
His nostrils flare, his lips flattening into a thin line.
A cold current sweeps the room as his body stills—lethal and quiet, the way a lion lies low before it strikes.
Elias rolls his neck, the joints crackling through the air.
“Wouldn’t you want to know?” he murmurs, voice gritty. “But you never will. Because you’re right. I was mistaken. This—” he jabs his finger on the table, “—willneverbe a partnership.”
Elias bares his teeth, a cruel sneer befitting the king of the underworld.
“If you value your life, don’t let me catch you in here again.”
Chapter 19: THE CATACOMBS’ MASK
Ren’s words hammer throughmy mind as I descend the spiral stairs leading into the underground labyrinth beneath Saint Michael the Redeemer three days after I caught the vixen snooping around my office.
Looking too delectable and at home—myhome—in her oversized T-shirt and leggings.
“She’s been asking to go to the Hollow Gardens. Something about a special tree. I told her the place was closed for reno.”
Our words were carved into the tree two decades ago. She’s thinking about Kian.
Ever since last week when I almost succumbed to my basest impulses to kiss her pouty lips in the office, I’ve kept myself busy, avoiding Lana as much as I can. I don’t entertain the idea of sleeping in the same room as her.
I’m afraid if I touch that lithe body of hers, I won’t be able to stop myself.
But I’ve seen the security footage. My princess is restless.
She continues her amateur detective hour—checking locked doors, drawers, anything forbidden. When I checked my feed this morning, she was digging through the recycling bin in the kitchen. As if I’d ever throw out anything important that way.
That devious streak of hers hasn’t dimmed.
I should be pissed that she’s actively disobeying me. If she were anyone else, she’d be buried six feet under.
But fury doesn’t ignite in my gut.
It’s because I expected this from her, of course. That has to be it. Nothing more. I want to see how far she’ll take her investigation.
And she’s spending a lot of time with the damn cat. The feline follows her everywhere like she’s decided she’s a dog. Lana saves all her smiles and snuggles for her.
Damn cat. Why did I rescue it again?
You know why, you sick psycho. She liked—
I don’t let myself finish the thought.
I only allow myself twenty-eight minutes a day to let my impulses run free. And most of those twenty-eight minutes are spent watching Lana.
