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A black sedan rolled to a stop near the curb ahead of me, smooth as spilled ink, windows dark, engine purring too quietly beneath the city noise.

I stopped walking.

My fingers curled around my bag strap until the fake leather bit into my palm.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

The back window lowered one inch.

Chapter 27

Lux

I wore a path into the floor of my bedroom. The room still smelled like her. Soft skin, ruined sleep, coffee buried under my sheets, the faint floral sweetness clinging to my shirt from her hair. My shirt. The one she had left in still wearing. I had watched her walk into the elevator wrapped in my clothes and grief, and I had done exactly what she asked.

I stayed.

For once in my miserable fucking life, I stayed where someone told me to, and it was fucking terrible. I hated it. Would not recommend.

My hands opened and closed at my sides. Blood had dried in the lines of my palms, under my nails, across my knuckles. I looked back up at the door. She had left, and I let her.

Good men did that, I assumed. Let women leave. Let them have boundaries. Let them slam emotional knives into your ribs and walk away with your shirt, your mark, your sanity, and whatever dignity you had left.

I did not know many good men.

My mask sat on the table near the window, black and still. A few hours ago, that face had kept me alive and her free.

Now it looked pathetic.

I stopped beside the bed and gripped the post hard enough for the wood to groan. My mark burned under my jaw. Hers answered through the bond, a faint pulse somewhere far below, moving through the city with a hurt little rhythm that scraped the inside of my bones.

She was angry.

Good.

She should be angry with me.

She should hate me with her pretty mouth, with those shaking hands. She should hate the cameras, the lies, the mask, the way I had stood in front of her and let her ache for a mate she believed had not found her yet.

I had no defense worth saying out loud.

I had reasons. Sure.

None of them meant anything at this moment.

I moved again, pacing from the bed to the window, from the window to the door, from the door back to the bed like my body thought motion might cut through the bond. I wanted to go to her, to protect her, to lock her away, but I knew if I did that any hope of her forgiveness would be thrown out the window.

The city stretched beneath me in early morning light, slick rooftops, thin traffic, wards glowing along intersections, all of New Abaddon pretending it wasn’t rotting under my hands. The South was turning. Circeville had breached my routes.

Liv had left my tower alone.

My fists clenched.

I had told myself she needed space. I had told myself sending no one after her meant respect. I had told myself a lot of shit in the last hour, and every word tasted like gasoline.

My phone rang. I snatched it from the table before the second buzz. Vale’s voice came through rushed and rough.