Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Every person?” She pulls back to look at me directly, her dark eyes dancing with something wolfish. “Or are you talking about someone specific who’s been undressing me with his eyes all night?”
The question hangs between us like a challenge, and we’ve definitely crossed some invisible line tonight.
And as she stands there waiting for my answer, her lips curved in that knowing smile while a dead man serves as our witness, there’s no going back from this moment.
“Just one,” I admit quietly. “And it’s not just because of your singing.”
Her smile widens, and for the first time since Peter died, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to have something worth protecting that isn’t just duty or obligation or guilt.
Something worth killing for. Something worth dying for.
Something worth burning the whole fucking world down for, if that’s what it takes to keep her looking at me like I’m salvation and damnation wrapped in the same beautiful package.
Chapter Nineteen
Blue
“God, I’m exhausted,” she says suddenly, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “It’s like this day has lasted about three years. I hate to leave the party, but I think I need to call it a night.”
The admission reminds me that less than twenty-four hours ago, she was being hunted by the Crow and getting chloroformed into a trunk. Today she met an entire town, accepted my promise to deliver her father’s killers, and just seduced a room full of strangers with her voice. No wonder she’s running on fumes.
“Come on,” I say, offering my arm. “I’ll walk you up.”
We make our way through the crowd, Saylor accepting final compliments on her performance with tired but genuine warmth. Hands reach out to squeeze hers, voices murmur praise and promises to see her again soon. She nods and smiles through it all, but I can see the exhaustion pulling at the corners of her eyes.
The house feels different as we climb the grand staircase, the party sounds fading to a distant murmur below us. Our footsteps echo softly against the stone, creating an intimate bubble of silence that makes me hyperaware of her presence beside me. The way her hand rests lightly on my arm, the whisper of fabric as she moves, the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with wine and warmth.
When we reach her door, she turns to face me, leaning back against the dark wood. The hallway is lit only by a few scattered candelabras, casting everything in warm golden light that makes her skin glow.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For today. For showing me Grimlock, for the party . . .” Her gaze drifts toward the staircase where the sounds of celebration continue below. “For the gift. And for what you promised me.”
The way she says gift makes my blood heat. She’s not talking about hospitality or party planning. She’s talking about Sly’s corpse, about the message Hans and I wrote in blood and flowers.
“Saylor—”
But before I can finish whatever I was going to say, she steps closer and rises on her toes, her hands sliding up my chest to rest against my shoulders. Her lips brush against mine, soft at first, testing. Then her mouth opens under mine and the kiss deepens into something that makes my vision blur.
She tastes like spice and sin, like everything I’ve been craving without realizing it. Her tongue slides against mine with deliberate intent, and when she bites gently at my lower lip, I have to grip the doorframe to keep from pushing her back against the wood and taking this exactly where my body wants it to go.
Her fingers find the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging just hard enough to make me groan against her mouth. The sound seems to please her because she smiles against my lips, the curve of her mouth wicked and knowing.
When she finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her eyes dark with something that makes my head spin.
“Come inside,” she whispers, her fingers trailing down my chest, finding the buttons of my shirt. “I don’t want this night to end yet.”
The invitation hangs between us like a loaded gun, and every cell in my body screams yes. I want nothing more than to follow her into that room, but the rational part of my mind—the part that remembers what Peter meant to me—knows this is exactly what I can’t do.
“Saylor.” I catch her hand, stilling her fingers against my chest. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking for.” Her eyes flash with something between challenge and frustration. “I’m not some innocent little girl who needs protecting from the big bad wolf. I can handle whatever you think you might do to me.”
But that’s exactly what she is, whether she realizes it or not. Peter’s little girl, twenty years younger than me, standing in a hallway asking me to take something I have no right to take. She thinks she understands the darkness in me, but she’s spent her whole life around good people. Normal people. She has no idea that I don’t know how to be gentle, that everything in me would want to own her completely if I let myself have her.