“So she’s just an ordinary woman?” Drake asked.
“Yes,” Rollings said, nodding fiercely. “Ordinary.”
How bloody laughable. Calliope Turner ordinary? There was nothingordinaryabout her. “When you’ve met Miss Turner,” he balled and unballed his fists, “what did you talk about?”
“She thanked me for the delivery. Paid in full. Politely asked after my journey.”
Drake crossed his arms, but Maxen paid him no mind. He didn’t need to look at his brother to know both brows were raised.
“That’s all?” he pressed.
“It’s always the same.” Rollings hesitated. “She’s only ever asked once if I miss home when I travel a lot, that’s all. Nothing more.”
That was all?
Perhaps to a man like Rollings it didn’t mean anything, but to Maxen? That simple question slithered into a knot in his gut, like a snake. She missed something too. Or someone. Or some time before she’d landed here in Brighton.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “If she is everything you claim she is, then you pushed her into the middle of a bloody storm without her knowing it.”
Rollings shuddered.
Good.
“Pray she’s as ordinary as you say, because if she’s not... this storm won’t spare her.”
He turned and strode for the stairs, Drake falling into step behind him.
Chapter Seven
Two days andnights passed in a flash. Three if one counted this night.
Nary a sight of her landlord.
However, the sense of his presence never left. It brooded in the corners of her shop like unfinished business waiting to be begun again. It brought her no ease.
Not in her skin.
Not in her bones.
Every time the bell above the shop chimed, her breath caught—just slightly, very slightly—before she could command it otherwise. Her body knew before her mind had the chance to remind it that they weresafe, that he wasgone, that Maxen Fury had no reason to return.
Because still she felt him.
Mostly in her dreams. It seemed they had decided that the beast was the object for their entertainment, and her torture. She hadn’t had another likethat, thank stars, but sleep had become a slippery, restless thing.
All because of that man.
Both a promise and a warning.
She was coming to find that was the most dangerous of combinations. Which led her to the most curious question. If Maxen Fury could be molded into a candle, what scent would he carry?
Spiced rum, perhaps? With a hint of charred tobacco? Topped with a hint of black leather.
Mmm.
No, Calliope! Absolutely not.
She wasdonewith people who wielded too much power.
