“See?” She laughs bitterly. “You think the same.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why else won’t you fuck me?”
The question lands like a punch. I feel my jaw lock so hard my teeth ache.
“You know why.” Hunter’s voice is firm. Definitive.
But she’s not finished, she keeps going, voice rising, fracturing. “You’re just like him. Pretending like things aren’t about me when they are about me. You all act like it’s for my own good, like you’re protecting me, but it’s really because you don’t trust me to handle it. You think I’m scared of pain? I can take whatever you give me, Hunter. I can take whatever he gives me. You all still think I’m weak. Or naïve. Or a child. I’m none of those things.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. I hear the sob she tries to swallow.
“I survived Strong Manor, being kidnapped and dying. I survived Armand and the Hunt. My time in the cage when every time someone looked at me like I was broken glass waiting to cut someone. I’m still here. But you look at me like I’m going to shatter if you push too hard. Like one wrong move and I’ll be back in my mind, the place where I can barely find myself. But I won’t. I can’t.”
Something hot and furious uncoils in my chest, and I don’t wait to hear Hunter’s response. I turn, stalk down the hall, boots hitting the runner hard enough it does nothing to muffle the sound. My hand’s already in my pocket, fishing out the keys to Hunter’s truck before I even reach the foyer.
Graves is rounding the corner of the hallway, and I almost crash straight into him.
“Jesus,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair.
“Everything okay?” he asks carefully.
“You know where he is?”
Graves doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I would assume at his office in the hotel.”
I’m already moving toward the door.
“DK, what exactly are you doing?” Graves calls after me.
“Trying to make sure he doesn’t make a stupid fucking mistake.”
Graves laughs–short and dry. “Good luck, but maybe phrase it a little more respectfully.”
“Don’t fucking count on it.”
The cab is cold, but I’m so angry I’m sweating under my jacket. The truck roars to life, and gravel sprays behind the tires as I peel out of the drive, headlights cutting through the dark. The city is quiet, Christmas lights strung across lampposts, storefronts glowing gold and red, but I barely see any of it. My hands are tight on the wheel, knuckles white.
The Maddox Hotel looms downtown, the neon ‘M’ hovering over the skyline. I screech into the circular drive, park crooked right in front of the entrance, not bothering with a spot. The valet starts to protest; I flip him my keys without looking back.
Inside, the lobby is hushed–marble floors, low lighting and the faint scent of pine from the massive, elaborately decorated tree in the corner. The furniture is sleek with modern lines, so different from the heavy stone and fireplaces of the House of Night. Two sides of the same coin. Timothy Maddox and the King–same man, different masks.
The desk clerk opens his mouth. I don’t slow down.
“Mr. Maddox is expecting me,” I say, already past him, heading for the private elevator.
I exit on the top floor, and the hallway is silent except for the soft hum of a building this size. His office door is ajar, light spilling into the carpeted corridor. He’s waiting–standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, back to me, hands in the pockets of his dark trousers, the university and much of Forsyth sprawled below.
I push the door wider and step inside. When he doesn’t turn or acknowledge me, I figure I may as well dive in. “You may not give ashit,” I say, voice low, “but I just wanted you to know that Arianette is a fucking mess right now, and it seems to be your fault.”
Timothy finally faces me. His expression is calm–too calm. The mask is back, even without the steel and metal. “If the Baroness can not regulate her emotions over a trivial Christmas party, then she’s proving my point.”
“You’re fucking with me.” I’m intentionally provoking–wanting to see if I can shake any emotion out of him. It may just get me killed.
“You didn’t see her at the ascension,” he says, not taking the bait. “I can’t risk her breaking down at another event like that. I barely got her out of there without causing a bigger scene.”
I step closer. “I’m calling bullshit on that.”
