But agreement without understanding meant nothing.
I peeled off my jacket and draped it over my desk chair.
Her gaze shot to the door, as if thinking about running.
I gave her a smile that invited the attempt.
Technically, there were rules for selecting a Fawn.
We had to perform an Ask. It was a sacred tradition.
I could choose her, but she still had to accept. It had to be private. Both of us clearheaded. Consent had to be binding and free of fear.
Which meant not while I was shoving her head under water.
Personally, I gave no fucks about the Ask.
Blair had agreed to be my Fawn, and she would be my Fawn, whether she liked it or not.
But first, I’d try to play by the rules.
I pushed my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “Thanks for coming with me.” The words sounded almost comical, coming from my lips.
“I wasforcedhere,” she shot back, folding her arms and leaning back on the couch. She tugged at her wet shirt’s hem. “Stripping in front of my classmates wasn’t how I wanted to start my weekend.”
I inched closer, not enough to crowd her, and kept a careful distance. Still, I noticed her breath catch and her chest rise faster.
“Last night, you asked me what a Fawn was.”
She gave a single nod.
I rotated the gold ring on my finger. “Fawns are made for Night Sons.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “Made forus.”
She didn’t seem too surprised at my being a Night Son.
Not surprising since Jett had opened his big-ass mouth. I was sure Daphne had sprinkled pieces of information in there as well. For some reason, we left her alone. The Havens would probably poison us if we touched her.
“What do Night Sons do?” she asked. “What’s the point of them?”
I decided to give her the simple version. The sanitized one.
“We make sure Saint Vale scandals don’t surface and problems are corrected privately,” I explained, hiding the grimness that went along with it—like that we made people vanish without noise, among other crimes.
She raised her chin, squinting up at me. “And a Fawn?”
“A Fawn is a woman placed under our protection.”
Her face scrunched in displeasure. “That tells me nothing. Try again.”
I enjoyed yet loathed the snark in her tone.
“What exactly do I need protection from?” she asked without giving me the opportunity totry again. “And what’s the price of thisprotection? Hard pass on being some guy’s fucktoy or whatever label you want to dress it up as.”
“You wouldn’t be afucktoy. You’d be claimed.”
Her jaw tightened. “Claimed by who?”
“Me.”
