“If you say hisfuckingname,” I threaten, voice dark. “I will kill him, Princess. I will dice his body into little pieces and feed it to the crows in the woods. Don’t fuckingsayhis name when you’re with me.”
She swallows, biting her lip. “There’s nothing here, Linwood.” She’s trying to put walls back up. Put me at arm’s distance. “Nothing is left between us.”
There’s a part of me that wants to shake her—force her to see. To take back my heart she holds captive and know peace.
The other part—the one that lives for her toxicity—begs for more. To punish her for keeping us apart. To force her to the bed and find a home between her legs and soul again.
“No?” I snort, raking my teeth over the lip she’s playing with, adjusting my knee. “Then why are you so fucking wet?”
She inhales sharply, and I grin, nose brushing hers.
“Deny it, lie to yourself if you need to, Princess. But you can’t hide from me. You miss me, your body misses me. And eventually, we’re going to fix this. Fixus.”
Maeve swallows, eyes narrowed. “There’s nofixinganything. We’re over.”
I tsk. “Sounds like denial. Such anuglycolor on you.” I nip her lip, and I groan. She fucking tastes likemine. “You’re going to be mine again.Watch.”
“No.”
The pounding in her bedroom startles us both. “Ace,” Hayes calls through the door, and I growl, hunching closer to the woman in my arms.
I may have an understanding with the hitter, but it doesn’t mean I was ready to share Maeve with him.
“I’m here,” she says, voice shaky. “What’s wrong?”
“Movement at the front gates,” he explains. “It’s an envoy. From the Board.”
We lock eyes. An envoy from the Board? Sounds suspicious. Exactly the kind of shit I’ve been warning her about. The kind of shit that means more death threats—the kind of shit I’ve been battling for her, so she remains safe.
She shoves me away, opening the door, much to my displeasure. Hayes might be with Collins, but I don’t need him seeing Maeve barely clothed.
His deep blue eyes bounce from Maeve to me, lingering on our mouths. I don’t pretend to hide in front of him, just glare, holding on to the doorjamb. I’m so pissed that he’s looking like a fantastic option to take my rage out on. I wonder if he’d bleed as red as all the others.
“We good here?” he asks, protectively standing closer to Maeve.
I smirk, but my fingers itch to grab my knife.
“Perfect.”
“Make sure the guards are ready,” Maeve commands, glaring up into Hayes’ face. She’s half his size and yet tougher than us both. “When he comes in, direct him to the office. Do not offer him a drink. Do not speak to him.”
“And you?” Hayes looks her over, eyebrows raised. “Pretty sure you should talk to an envoy with pants on.”
“Give me five minutes to change,” she grumbles, shoving me aside and out of her room without another word.
5
MAEVE
FIVE YEARS AGO
His muscles contract with each flick of his wrist. Lithe fingers dance over the canvas, smeared white and blue as he builds the base of a landscape. Long sweeps of black fill the corners, and he uses the tip of his digit, moving in soft, frenzied strokes, highlighting the sky.
Sweat glistens off his shoulders, and the flickering flames caress his pale olive skin as if they own him. Maybe they do. Killian Linwood was always rumored to be born of Hell.
My eyes find the gold chain at his neck, the small pendant hanging lower, resting between his two nipple piercings. It catches the light, glimmers, a beacon in the dark.
“Are you going to stare all night?” he teases. He’s always teasing. “Or are you coming in?”
