“I know better than to intimidate you, Desiree,” he says, stopping me. “We both know how much you enjoy being scared.” Rage and something darker coil in my stomach. Damn him. He moves closer, his lips brushing my ear. I hate how my skin prickles with awareness. When he pulls me against his solid chest, my traitorous body remembers every sinful moment we shared.
“You made these delicious sounds that drove me mad,” he murmurs, and I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me.“Like that,” he purrs.
His answering groan reverberates through my back, turning my knees to jelly even as fury ignites within my chest. My head tilts back against his chest. I loathe how my body melts at his voice, how my eyes flutter shut.
“What are you doing, Desiree?” he whispers.
But the question sounds more like,“What are you doing to me, Desiree?”
My eyes snap open, and I jerk away from him. “Stay the hell away from me,” I pant.
“I’m trying,” he says. As he walks away, his laughter echoes in the hall.
I lean against the cold stone wall. The ache between my legs is maddening. Vane’s lingering touch sears like a brand on my skin.
“Fuck,” I snarl, dragging my hands down my face. What kind of masochist am I to let him get that close again?
My feet dragas I enter Leigh’s bedroom after my shift, bone-weary from the day’s events. Three Epsilon Solar Witch teens held up a bank teller at gunpoint today—desperate kids claiming they needed money to secure their formerly bright futures. The arrest was a complete mess, serving as another glimpse of the fear taking root in our country. The terror in their eyes haunts me, and all I want is to lose myself in Leigh’s embrace.
But the room is empty. Water gurgles from the adjacent bathroom, and my attention drifts to her pristinely made bed—specifically to the pile of unopened letters on it. One return address makes my blood run cold: Kratos Prison. The urge to tear open whatever her wretched Uncle Don wrote burns like acid, but I resist. Trust between us remains fragile, and I can’t afford to burn that bridge.
With a gentle knock, I enter the bathroom. The fragrance of violets swirls with the ethereal glow of candlelight. Leigh stands before her marble vanity, a vision of royal beauty as she removes her gold jewelry. The soft clink of metal against stone rings in the steam-filled room.
Leigh catches my gaze in the mirror, her smile—rare and precious these days—illuminating her face. “Took you long enough,” she says.
“How did you know it was me and not an intruder?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
“The ghosts.”
“Do you hear them now?” I ask, and she nods. We’ve had many discussions about her magic, and while I try to be understanding, a sense of unease sometimes grips me, like it does now, as a chill runs down my spine. “I thought they were quiet around me.”
“Only sometimes.”
I tilt my head. “Sometimes?”
“They aren’t scared of you anymore.”
I laugh. Leigh mentioned they were quiet around me because I’d somehow been touched by death when Desiree died. Since we were twins, we shared a bond, proving a piece of me perished with her, yet I was still alive. To the ghosts, I am an anomaly. “Pity.”
I drink in the sight of the witch before me. Even Aurora’s expansive desert night skies pale in comparison to her.
“Unzip me?” Leigh requests, gathering her long hair over one shoulder.
As I comply, her breath catches. The sound draws me closer. My finger traces the exposed skin of her back, feeling goose bumps rise under my touch. She clutches the fabric to her chest, spinning to face me with those mesmerizing gray eyes.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to unzip me for hours,” she mutters, her tone a mix of teasing and accusation. “I almost asked one of the guards.”
Frowning, I pull her closer. The tension in my body melts as she wraps her arms around my waist. “In case you forgot, Your Majesty, you have a country to run, and I have a city to keep safe,” I tease back, trying to lighten the mood, but it’s hard when everything—apart from us—seems to be falling apart.
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
My body begs for rest, but something in her tone stops me cold. I’d shoulder any burden for her, no matter how weary I am. “Did something happen? Want to talk about it?”
Leigh sighs, pulling away from me to rest against the counter. “I think Janus hates me.”
I laugh, but her scowl tells me she’s serious. “Why do you think that?”
Leigh’s eyes dart sideways, but I grip her chin gently. “Tell me,” I press. I fight the urge to kiss her as she licks her lips. Her mouth has captivated me from the moment we met—beautiful in its duality, capable of both cutting words and tender whispers. And other, more sinful things I try not to dwell on.
