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The steps were now in the kitchen, inching closer.

Dawson looked like he was about to breathe fire. His eyes had turned so dark, they appeared nearly black. She needed an answer. The steps moved to the middle of the kitchen. The men were almost to the bedroom door.

Dawson was barely contained rage beside her, and she had never seen anyone struggle so much with themselves. He fought an internal war and she wasn’t sure who—or what—would win.

The steps were right outside the door, and he still hadn’t said anything. Perhaps he was just going to risk it, and let them walk in rather than answer her. When the doorknob clicked, he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her close.

His lips hovered right next to her ear, and his voice sounded rough: “It’s not impossible because it happened to me.”

Her hands tightened on his arms as the weight of the information devastated her.

That’s when the door opened. Dawson crushed her against his chest and flipped his coin and they disappeared.

19

They arrived at the estate with a sudden snap. Dawson instantly let go of her and walked away. He took off his coat and threw it into a corner aggressively, cursing under his breath and grabbed the back of a chair, leaning against it, not meeting her gaze.

It had happened to him. That’s what he had just said. A permanent enthrallment. Impossible.

His hands grasped the back of the chair so tightly, his knuckles turned white. The glass chandeliers above vibrated with fury.

How could he have been under a permanent enthrallment? Cast by whom? When? There were so many questions in her mind, but her chest felt too tight to speak.

Dawson still hadn’t said anything as he switched from one foot to the other. She hugged her arms around her, readying herself for whatever he was going to say. He seemed so agitated, like he barely knew what to do with himself.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he seethed.

She remained quiet and he stood up straight, his face ashen with fury as he avoided looking at her.

He held on to his secrets like a cloak. Anytime he had to reveal something, it seemed to cause him physical pain. Judging by how taut his face was now, this was the biggest one he had shared with her yet.

“The scar on your chest…” She swallowed, her voice slightly trembling. “It’s the only one I didn’t recognize.”

Could that be the enthrallment? His hands clenched and unclenched, but he remained quiet. Then he walked in fast paces to a cabinet in the corner. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and yanked out the cork with his teeth. Mira stood very still as she watched him take a big gulp from the bottle. Just as he finished swallowing, he put the bottle to his lips again.

“What do you want from me, Winters?” he asked angrily, almost accusingly.

“The truth.”

“Why? You think you’re entitled to that information because we shared a fucking kiss?”

The wall had gone up again. She could see it in his eyes.

Only this time, he had no way out. He had already shared the basics with her. There was no way to avoid the details any longer. He seemed to know it as he took another angry swig from the bottle. Checkmate. He had no more moves left.

She waited for him to talk. He sat down on the leather couch.

“Fuck it, I guess,” he said under his breath.

Mira was afraid to move or even breathe. A quiet sadness settled over him. So this was what Aidric Dawson looked like in defeat. And she knew that’s how it felt to him—defeat. A loss of control over his own secrets, which he guarded so dearly.

He held the bottle out to her. “Might as well get comfortable.” It didn’t sound like a warm invite. There was a sharpness to his words that could cut through glass.

She walked toward him with measured steps and took the bottle from his fingers. A sip of remarkably smooth whiskey slid down her throat.

He opened his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the dragon tattoo on his forearm.

“My father was one of the youngest Wielders to ever gain five signifiers. Did you know that?”