“All right, Praetorian,” I say. “Allies, then.”
I extend my hand. He glances down, keeping his arms at his sides, but then slowly he meets my palm.
As he touches me, the heat from his hand warms my whole body in the cold room, and the same feeling of calm grips me.
Our eyes meet, and a spark lights in my core. The same is reflected in his eyes. Silence drags its feet, making the moment too important, but I don’t know what to say. Torren’s breathing gets faster, and then I realize we are still holding hands. We both pull back.
He flexes his hand and then balls it in a fist. Then he steps to the side. “Allies, then,” he repeats.
He strides to the door but then stops and gestures for me to leave first. I take a shaky step. I tell myself that aligning with Torren is a good thing. It will enable me to survive the next few days. And maybe, just maybe, together we can catch the killer and save the republic. Most everything about working with him is good for me.
That is, of course, unless he uncovers that I am Elusian.
XXXIII.
Torren
Allies for now.
Kera’s hair smelled like winter rose oil, and her hand was so slight in mine. But it was the way she looked at me when we agreed that haunts me. That pull I feel when our eyes meet became a chain binding me to her.
She is the very last thing I need, but in order to get to the bottom of these murders, I have to align with her.
It’s a deal with the underworld, and I now understand the choice the Senate made all those years ago.
Shaking my head at myself, I take the stairs behind her. It’s ridiculous to dwell on a handshake, even if heat flushed through my body when I took her hand.
The most important thing is that I will be able to work with her and Julian to counterbalance the power of the Senate Leader.
But what did that omen mean? Even the sight of it caused unease to settle in my gut. And the fact that Kerasea didn’t know is a different kind of troubling. Unless she did understand it and chose not to share. I can’t expect her to instantly trust me when I don’t fully trust her.
I can’t completely trust anyone.
She and I wordlessly descend, but I’m all too aware of how close she is to me. I shouldn’t feel anything besides reluctance, but as I watch her naked back shift in her dress, other feelings stir inside me.
I grip the railing and try to focus on something else. Anything else. I stare down at the blood specks she noticed, and it’s a sobering reminder of where we are and what the senators are capable of. I’ve been behind in this chess game, and I need to get a step ahead. Are Paolo and Foreau in danger now? Or is it enough that Terrance is the Senate Leader and the scapegoat is dead?
Uncertainty makes my chest feel leaden as we reach the third floor. We walk down the hall, Kera brushing her hand against mine and then correcting, pulling farther away, her steps unsteady.
I don’t want to look, but my gaze is drawn to her. She trembles, her skin coated in goose bumps.
“You’re shaking,” I say.
“I’m cold.”
I move to give her my jacket, but then I remember I’m only wearing a dress shirt. I left my suit jacket in the other tower.
Son of a jackal. I have another dead body to handle. And then tomorrow, I will need to tell the Senate something about the cook. Anything but the truth.
I’ll report that the cook took his own life. The killer will, of course, know I’m lying, but they can hardly admit that. I will omit his confession.
We reach Kera’s chamber, and her hands shake so much that she can’t get her key in the door. She tries again.
I place my hand over hers and she stills, holding her breath. I guide her key and she doesn’t let go, so we unlock it together.
She pushes open the door and takes two steps inside, then turns and faces me. Her lips part as she grips the doorknob. Kera seems like she wants to say something, but no words come out.
Is she going to invite me inside? Do I want her to?
