Instead, I stand on shaky legs and move toward the door, leaving my daughter safe in this castle of monsters, to go find the biggest monster of them all.
And ask him why he's saving me.
The hallway stretches out in front of me, empty and silent except for my own breathing. I pull out my phone, thumbs hovering over the screen.
Where are you?
I hit send before I can overthink it.
The door swings open before the message even shows as delivered.
Nico stands there, filling the doorframe. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment neither of us moves. He's changed into a black t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders, and his hair is slightly damp. Fresh from a shower, apparently.
Great. Now I'm thinking about showers.
He takes a step forward, clearly intending to enter his room.
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Somewhere else. Not here."
One dark eyebrow rises. The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be amusement on anyone else. "Worried about memories?"
Don't think about the towel. Don't think about the water droplets on his chest. Don't think about?—
"Something like that," I manage.
"The towel wasn't that low."
It was exactly that low, and we both know it. Under normal circumstances, I'd fire something back. Something about his ego or his apparent need to remind me he has abs. But tonight, my daughter is sleeping in a room down the hall after her father grabbed me in public. Tonight, I'm staying in this compound because my own mother sold us out.
Tonight, I don't have it in me to play.
"You're my boss," I say flatly.
Something shifts in his expression. The smirk fades. He studies me for a long moment, then nods once.
"Follow me."
He moves past me without waiting for a response, and I fall into step behind him.
The living room is empty. Nico crosses to a bar cart I hadn't noticed before, tucked into the corner near the fireplace.
"I need a drink."
The words leave my mouth before I can filter them. Nico pauses, bottle in hand, and turns to look at me.
"You don't drink."
"How do you know that?"
"You didn't touch the wine at dinner."
Of course he noticed. The man probably knows my blood type by now.
"I don't drink," I confirm. "Usually. Tonight I need one."
He doesn't argue. Doesn't ask questions. Just pours amber liquid into a crystal glass and holds it out to me.
Our fingers brush when I take it. His skin is warm. I ignore the way my pulse skips and bring the glass to my lips.
