The hall is cooler. Quieter. The light dimmer.
I reach the rear door, set one of the bags down, and fumble with the latch with my free hand. A shadow detaches itself from the wall, making me yelp.
Ever. He’s there like he belongs to the dark.
He steps in, close enough that the other trash bag slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a heavy thud. Without speaking, he picks it up and reaches past me to open the door and carry the bag outside to the dumpster.
I’m still there when he returns.
“I could have done that.”
“‘Thank you’ works,” he returns.
I lift my chin. “That too, I guess.”
He can take the other bag out, too. I turn to walk away, but his arm lands heavy on the wall in front of me, stopping me. Caging me in without touching. His breath fans the hair at my temple when he speaks.
“I just need you to stop,” he mutters. “Can you just stop?”
My breath catches. “Stop what?”
His eyes cut to my mouth. Then back to my eyes. His voice is controlled but something in his expression is not. His shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug. “Stop hunting forwhatever it is you think you’re going to find. Stop running from whatever you’re running from, maybe. Stop looking for Midnight. Stop being so damn…under my skin.”
“Then tell me what I want to know,” I snap.
Ever’s jaw flexes. “Tell us why you want him.”
My heart stutters.Would it be such a bad thing to tell them who I am? What happened to my family? Why I want a killer?
Maybe not. The problem lies on the potential flip side—the what ifyes, it turns out it definitely is a bad thing to tell them these things.
“You don’t get to ask that,” I say, voice low.
His gaze doesn’t move. “You walked into our bar, firefly. You asked the wrong question. You’re sleeping in our house. That gives me every right to ask.”
Firefly.I swallow. “I can change any of that at any time.”
He leans closer, just enough that his chest brushes mine and nudges me flat against the wall. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Heat jolts through me so hard it makes me dizzy.
I hate my body. I hate it for wanting him. For responding to him. For lighting up when I should be cold.
My pulse slams. The words hang between us.
So does the space. So does the heat. Ever’s gaze drops to my lips again, and my thoughts skid.
Then he kisses me. It’s no gentle test. No slow build.
Ever doesn’t seduce.
Ever takes.
Demands.
His mouth crashes into mine like a warning, like punishment, like he’s tired of holding himself back. I make a sound I don’t mean to make, and my hands fist his shirt, pulling him closer like I have the right.
His tongue slides against mine, claiming space like it’s his. LikeI’mhis.
