“For what?” Jax cuts in, moving closer to Ivan.
Ivan trembles. “I—Just let me?—”
“What?” Jax says, giving his shoulder a short shove—but his hand doesn’t leave. His fingers stay there, gripping enough to keep Ivan where he is. “Say it.”
“Jax, stop,” I say quickly, stepping between them. “You’re scaring him.”
“He should be scared,” Jax growls.
“I swear!” Ivan blurts.
We both freeze.
He swallows hard, voice cracking. “I swear I thought it was silver nitrate… I swear I thought the reaction was normal but…but now…” His breath shakes. “Now I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” He looks at me—not Jax. His eyes are wide. “You have to help me,” he whispers. “If it was tar—if it’s really tar—if it’s cursed—then I’m already—” He chokes on the rest.
Jax’s hand drops.
Ivan stares down at his fingers; they are raw around the nails, as if he's been gnawing at them all day, or picking at the skin until it bled. The stains are still there, dark under the raw, broken skin.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he whispers. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”
Seven
NOW | JAX
The second I turn to look at her, my entire body goes on high alert. She’s across the intersection, bundled in a black coat that’s not warm enough for this weather, her face half-buried in the collar.
Her eyes land on mine, wide with surprise. I notice the snowflakes melting in her lashes, making her dark brown eyes pop even more. I’ve known her for years, but I swear she gets more beautiful every time I see her. Which, of course, makes staying the fuck away from her this much harder.
Her hair’s dark brown again. She changed it recently, which means she’s drowning in something, and I can’t even fucking reach her to pull her out. My eyes drag down her body anyway, hating myself for it, hating the way my own skin tightens. She pushes her hair back, and my eyes snag on the birthmark on her wrist. It makes my blood run hot, a straight shot to my dick. All I can think about is yanking her arm close and sinking my teeth into it just to hear her gasp.Why the fuck does she have to smell so much like prey?
Scotch whines, a high, excited sound, and his tail starts thwacking against my leg. He lunges, trying to bolt, and I grip the leash tight enough to choke both of us.
She doesn’t wave or smile. She just stands there, perfectly still, like she knows I have no choice but to cross the street to her.
“The hell are you doing here?” I snap.
Scotch is already at her legs, nudging his head against her hand, desperate for a pet. She crouches instantly, cupping his massive face in both hands, and he melts, pressing his whole weight against her.Pathetic dog for a pathetic man.
She lifts her gaze to the moon, then back to me. “I needed a drink,” she says, smiling.
I want to tell her to leave, to get the fuck away from me. Instead, I turn toward the back door and hold it open. She walks in without a word and goes straight to the bottles, fingertips brushing every single one.
I look away with my jaw tight. I’m one second away from forgetting every rule I set out to keep her safe.
Scotch settles in a corner, and I have to take a breath before I speak. “Two olives?” I ask, already pulling a glass.
“Three.” She pauses, smirk playing on her lips. “Extra dirty.”
I try not to focus on her words. I can’t let her get under my skin tonight.
I make the martini and slide it toward her. She savors the drink in that way she always does—swirling the olives first, then running her tongue over one before taking a sip.
“Cheers,” she says as she hops up on the counter.
“So what’s so important you crossed town in the middle of the night,” I ask, “alone, dressed like that?”
“You know I can handle myself,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
