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“You don’t trust me?”
“Not as far as I can throw you.”
“That hurts. Didn’t I promise to keep you safe and I have?”
“So far,” I allow.
“And Kendall?”
“Maybe. But I’m not sure I can handle any more surprises for a while.”
His teasing vanishes, and he says, “I would never let anything happen to you.”
I don’t answer. It’s too much of a reminder of what kept me awake last night. I have no doubt Legion will protect me—but I’m not ready for what that might cost him.
“Close your eyes, little assassin.”
This time, I do as he asks.
“Good girl. Now, give me your hand.” My eyes fly open. His lips twitch. “Your gloved hand,” he adds pointedly.
I shake my head but offer him my hand anyway.
“Eyes,” he reminds me.
I shut them and am immediately enveloped in darkness. All I know is the sensation of his hand wrapped tightly around mine, and my entire body warms to it. He’s right, he would never let anything happen to me. So, one foot in front of the other, I let him lead me … wherever it is he’s taking me.
“Now, walk this way,” he says, using our joined hands to lead me into the gardens. After what feels like forever, he says, “Stop here.”
I do as he asks and wait, listening to a series of creaks and rustles that suggest something other than rosebushes and ferns.
“Are you leading me into some torture chamber?” I joke.
“I guess some might call it a torture chamber,” he says.
At that, nerves dance in my belly, but he never once lets go of my hand. I hear a click then another creak.
Finally, he says, “Open your eyes.”
With a steadying breath, I do.
The first thing I see is a doorway pushed open as if beckoning me inside whatever structure stands before me. I look around, noting we’re in the very back of the gardens just before the forest encroaches. Dark, poisoned vines crawl over the plant life, but right here where I stand, they’ve been cut back, and in the clearing stands a wooden structure I’ve never seen before.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Go inside and see for yourself.”
I take a tentative step through the door he’s pushed open, and my eyes widen at the number of plants that have been packed into the space. Not just any plants either. Recognition hits me as my eyes land on a familiar pot of wolfsbane. Juniper gave it to me for my birthday two years ago. Beside it is potted hemlock my father and I planted as seeds, and beyond that, several pots of brightly colored oleander that my mother got for me the last time we went shopping together.
I take another step then another until I reach the back of the greenhouse and spot the stack of notebooks and journals set out on the small desk in the corner. My eyes well with tears at the unexpected gesture that speaks volumes in so many ways.
I whirl and find Legion standing in the doorway.
“These are my father’s journals,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And my plants.”
