"My brother's basically a vampire Dalai Lama," Kayden chimes in, the grin in his voice sharp and unwanted.
She glances at him, then at me again. Her body shifts slightly. I try not to notice the way my shirt clings to her frame, the way it drapes just enough to expose the delicate curve of her collarbone, the way the hem glides over the ink along her thigh—vines and flowers winding up her skin like something alive.
Beautiful.
And dangerous.
Focus.
I keep my gaze locked on her face. Only her face.
I have to stay calm, professional. That's the only way this can work.
Because if I start seeing her as anything else, if I give space to what's tightening in my chest, I won't be the one in control anymore.
I clear my throat, keeping my posture neutral—shoulders loose, relaxed, like I'm not hyper-aware of her every movement.
"You have no reason to trust me," I say. "You don't have to. I'm not asking for that. Just a brief truce. Can we do that?"
She looks away, jaw tightening, something flickering across her face—the kind of fear that settles in the bones after trusting the wrong people. After running for too long.
My gaze drops for a moment. The collar of my shirt hangs loose on her, one side slipping lower than the other. Her skin is pale, still recovering from the cold, marred with faint scratchesand a bruise blooming dark along her thigh from what happened in the forest.
I shouldn't notice any of that. But I do.
I drag my gaze back up. Keep my voice even. "Look, Sage, I know what it means to run."
She doesn't respond, but I press on, softer this time. "If you tell me what's going on, I might be able to help—protect you."
It slips out before I can stop it. A mistake.
I don't offer protection lightly. Not to someone we know almost nothing about. Not to someone who lured Kayden into a trap, then tried to stake him in my living room. Even if most days, I feel like throttling him myself.
I sense his stare. He doesn't say anything, but I catch it in my periphery—judgment, maybe. Or amusement. Or both.
Sage's eyes lift to mine, narrowed. "Protect," she repeats, low and almost mocking. "Let's do this instead. You want a truce? Fine. I give you answers. You let me go. That's my deal."
I almost smile. She's got no leverage. Half-naked, bruised, weak from cold, and still negotiating like she's holding the high ground.
"All right," I say before Kayden can open his mouth. "Deal."
She nods, shifts slightly again on the couch. "Can I at least get a drink?" she asks, voice dry.
Damn it. I should've thought of that. She must be parched. Probably starving.
"Of course. We have food, too. All kinds. Human food included," I add quickly. "The place is stocked for various guests," I explain, in case she has some special dietary requirements like many supernaturals.
Kayden snorts. "We don't serve kombucha or wheatgrass smoothies, though. And by the look of those tattoos, I wouldn't rule out moon water and crystal charging as part of your daily routines."
I resist the urge to swat him on the back of the head, like I used to when we were kids. Scratch that—I want to swat him most days. He just hasn't been around to give me the opportunity in the last century or so.
Sage shoots him a deadpan look. "Whiskey is fine."
Kayden raises a brow, clearly pleased. "Now you're speaking my language, sunshine."
He moves toward the cabinet like a man happily appointed bartender of the damned, pouring drinks with a flair that almost makes me shake my head.
"Didn't peg you for a hard liquor type, though," he says. "Thought you'd be more of a lavender tea and incense kind of girl."
