“I followed you,” he says simply. Honest for once. “I left her.”
“Why?”
“You were jealous. You left me this morning after letting Faust inside you, but youhatedher with me, didn’t you?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t knowwhatto say.
“Why are you still scared?” he asks softly, and unlike his taunting voice or his eerie tone, the question seems strangely genuine.
He pulls me closer with his arm snaked around my waist, until my breasts are pressed to his firm body.
I tilt my head back to hold his gaze.
His thumb grazes my pulse point along my wrist.
“Don’t you know I’ll kill for you?”
I suck in air and I don’t exhale for a long moment. My body is warm, the world seems to be standing still, and nothing about this moment makes sense, least of all the emotion welling up inside my chest, right there behind my ribcage.
“Do you even know me?” But I feel it. Our connection.
He smiles, but it isn’t leering or dangerous or charming. It’s sad.
Leaning close, his lips graze mine.
My body grows infinitely hotter.
“Let me in deeper.”
When we slipthrough the heavy black curtains that separate the end of the haunted house from the foyer of Bloodsword, the lounge inside Castle Morack, it’s as if I’ve awoken from a dream. The lighting is dim, but still far brighter than anything inside the winding, dark rooms I’ve left. The air is colder, the scent of pumpkin and autumn fills my nose, and standing with Sylvan’s arm around me in the light feels obscene.
There’s a host—judging by his white collared shirt and black pants—waiting for us in a red velvet chair by the closed door tothe lounge and he smiles, half of his face donned with skeleton paint.
He’s on his feet before I can extract myself from Sylvan’s grip. “Would you like a table, or the bar?”
My mind shifts to Cynthia and I say, “My friend is in there. She got taken out? I need to see if she’s okay.”
Sylvan’s fingers squeeze my waist.
The waiter’s dark brows pull together, then he says, “Cynthia?”
I nod once, wondering how many people surrender. Doubtful it’s many, because people don’t like to hurt their pride, by Cyn does what she wants no matter what anyone thinks. It’s one of the many reasons I love her.
“Yes,” I say quickly, wanting to see her to make sure she’s okay and maybe, too, I want to be sure Tasia isn’t being a bitch to her because of me. I’ll fucking deck her if she is. There’s too much adrenaline in my bloodstream to play nice tonight.
The man nods once. “This way please.” Then he turns and instead of opening the double doors in front of us, he pivots to a door I didn’t notice before, on the wall adjacent. Nondescript, with a golden knob.
He pulls it open and more ambient, golden light spills out onto the castle’s marble flooring. But as Sylvan and I move in tandem to follow him, his dark gaze flickers to Sylvan for the first time.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding it, “but Ms. Espinosa has requested only Neve Devine enter the private room.”
A laugh leaves my lips before I can help it.
I don’t know why Cyn got us a private room nor why she only wants me, but feeling Sylvan Connor, hockey god, stiffen at my side as if he’s been physically slapped gives me more joy than it should. Now that we’re in the light and I’m far removed from thepanic of crawling along the floor in the dark, I remember how it felt watching him with Tasia.
Fuck him and his reasons for it.
I pull away from him but his hand slides along my waist to grip my wrist, and I grudgingly turn back.
