The left side of the shop held simpler, more affordable, day-to-day use candles wrapped in paper and tied with ribbons. Even simpler ones were arranged in glass jars. Along the right, finer, more exotic scented candles were carefully arranged. Beneath the shelves, drawers held more stock. She had spent the months in her former abode creating them, and if it hadn’t been for Mr. Fitz, this would not have been possible.
Her shoulders drooped.
Mr. Rollings as well . ..
She strode over to the counter and slumped over it, her eyes landing on the leatherbound ledger, a quill resting beside a small inkpot. Right, she should pen a letter to Mr. Fitz sooner rather than later.
Prince nudged her hand, his dark eyes filled with canine affection, and she reached out to scratch behind his ears. “Everything is going to be fine. More than fine.”
The words, spoken aloud, soothed the anxiety left by last night.
Not fully. But some.
After all, the bruises on her knees from the fall served as an annoying reminder. Who would have thought that only hours ago, she’d been racing down the dark streets of her new neighborhood. She’d barely escaped with her skin intact—it certainly felt as such!—and while she would like nothing more than to forget about the entire affair, those ruthless men were still out there somewhere. Perhaps still searching for her.
Calliope only hoped that during their pursuit of her, Mr. Rollings had managed to slip away. How lucky that would be! However, she now knew he had dealings with dangerous people. Could she do business again with him again knowing this?
She didn’t believe so.
But that didn’t mean she wanted the man to die.
“I should just forget about it.” She glanced at Prince, now stretched out lazily at her feet. “There’s no reason to ever encounter them again.” She certainly wouldn’t venture into the streets at night again!
Prince lifted his head to look at her before dropping his head to his paws again with a heavy sigh, as if exasperated by her constant misadventures. Hah! A dog’s sigh truly did embody the truest air of disappointment.
“Oh, don’t act so put upon. I’m still here, aren’t I? And you had some extra snacks last night because of my fortunate escape. Be grateful.”
Prince twitched one ear in response, as if to indicate he’d prefer his treats without the threat of mortal peril next time, thank you very much.
She smiled, shaking her head.
The doorbell jingled, and after last night, the sound pierced sharp and jarring. She turned. “Good...”—her smile faltered and a prickling awareness skittered over her scalp—“morning.”
A man filled the doorway.
But not just your average, everyday man. This one was tall and unmoving. A shadow carved in black. Not merelydressedin black, though he was, he wore the color like midnight had chosen him. Hair. Eyes. The gloves on his hands. A jagged scar split his lip, sharpening his look into a promise of feral danger.
Everything about him seemed sculpted from the night.
Call it instinct, since she hadn’t met many men in her life, but he wore himself with the ease of one well acquainted with domination. But it wasn’t this that thoroughly unsettled her, rather, the way he stood, still as a predator, danger clinging to him like a second skin, and all his focus trained on her.
Also, he was absurdly handsome.
Calliope!
Right. Danger.
How was she supposed to respond to a man staring at her with the air between them crackling akin to thunder?
“Good morning,” he finally returned, his tone a low, hoarse growl that barely qualified as civil.
Her blood turned to ice.
That voice. She knew that voice.
She felt the cadence in her bones before she placed the sound in her mind. Her stomach twisted, not just in dread, but with something deeper. Something far too complicated to dissect in this space and time. Perhaps in any space and time.
The memory of the previous night surged back in vivid, terrifying clarity.
