“Have you had breakfast?” Faust’s question again.
I roll my eyes but I can’t stop the smile on my lips either.
“No,” Sylvan says for me, “of course she hasn’t.” Then, surprising me more than anything else has over the past month, he reaches for my hand, lacing his long fingers with mine and gripping tight.
My mouth feels dry as I look at him, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s still got one hand in his hoodie pocket, his hood over his eyes, and he’s facing away from me. But I stroke my thumb over his hand and when I feel a soft ridge, I look down.
His scar.
Pearly white, just over a vein on his hand.
I keep my questions to myself and squeeze him tight.
When I look up, Faust’s near-black irises are locked on us, but there’s no tension in his body. If anything, he looks satisfied. Like we’re his to protect.
“We need to get you fed, Darling,” he says quietly. And it could be a pet name, or it could be him using his surname for mine.
The possibilities make my heart leap as a small smile plays on his lips.
“You’re ours, you know that?”
“What happens when we graduate?—”
“Just answer his question,” Sylvan says coldly, but he squeezes my hand to soften his tone.
I look at each of them and watch in turn as they both put their gazes on me.
“The three of us together look far too suspicious.” It’s a deflection, and they both know it.
“We’realreadytogether. Whether you admit it or not, people have seen us.” Sylvan’s clipped words.
“People have seen me with a lot of guys, including three who are now dead?—”
“Don’t remind me, or I’ll dig their bodies up and kill them again.”
Faust huffs a laugh at Sylvan’s words.
“And what about Tasia?” I counter. “Have you dealt with that little problem yet?”
Sylvan’s hand tightens around mine. “I was kind of hoping you would,” he whispers, dragging his gaze from our entwined hands up to my eyes.
I feel dizzy staring at blue and ice gray and seeing myself falling into his coldness.Frostbite,they call him. I can feel the chill from here.
“Whether you want to give in or not,” Faust says, breaking mine and Sylvan’s eye contact as I turn to look at him. “We’re all staying at my place tonight.” It’s a tone no one should argue with, but I don’t go down without a fight. Particularly when my heart is on the line.
“Nolan wants me home.” As I say it, I know how it sounds. Sylvan grips my hand so tightly it aches and Faust’s already dark eyes seem to get blacker.
“You’re not going back home until he leaves.” He says it with authority. “And that’s not a suggestion, Darling.”
My heart skips, but before I can reply—unsure what I’ll say—a door thuds closed and we all look toward the source of the sound.
There, at the bottom of our section, where the corridor leads out to the staircases around the ice, a man appears. And he’s staring up at us.
Not just any man, I realize.
Whatever fear I felt with Nolan, however uncomfortable it was walking here without a jacket, none of it matters when I realize it’s Detective Lincoln staring up at the three of us, his arms folded across his chest and his head cocked.
“Neve Devine.” He says my name gently, but something twists in it. “I went by your place, but no one came to the door.”
