Right? Right.
The man could be argued to be an unpredictable variable. Violet would very much prefer him to become a more predictable one. She took a step forward. Then another.
How did one choose?
She thought she’d paid attention to which one his brothers took him to, but the corridor seemed longer now, the doors more numerous, each one alike in its refusal to declare itselfhis.
Her gaze flicked between all the doors, allowing instinct to take the reins. Some she dismissed without question, while two tugged at her attention for no reason she could name at all. Foolish. Entirely.
Just pick one!
Drat it. She stepped up to a door, lifted her hand and prepared to knock, and let her hand fall again.
What if she got it wrong? She should have a reason ready if someone else opened the door. What if the door didn’t open? Did she just knock on the next one?
The door behind her opened.
She tensed, glancing over her shoulder.
Drake filled the doorway.
Their gazes met, and the corridor, the candle, the very air between them seemed to charge with provocation.
“Do you need something?”
Her breath caught. “Yes.”You.
His eyes seemed to darken. Had he read her thoughts? Heat rushed to her face. What compelled her to say that single word with such a breathless tone, she could not say, but it had rolled off her tongue as though it had waited for this very moment to be released. Fortunately, the second word had only followed in her head!
“You’re not returning home tonight.”
She stared at him without blinking. “How did you arrive at the conclusion that’s what I wanted?”
“Why else would you be looking for me?”
Why else indeed. She crossed her arms. “Am I standing before your door?” Lifting her chin, she added, “And who says I’m looking for you?”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Then you are looking for Serpent? Clad like that?”
She stilled, then inwardly uttered a curse on the man. Very well, she’d been very wrong. Could she admit that now? Absolutely not. “Why not?” she challenged.
“Why?” he challenged back.
Obnoxious man. She had no answer to that. “I—”
He cut her off by stepping up, closing his hand around her wrist, and drawing her into his chamber, kicking the door shut behind them. “Why are you looking for me, little liar?”
Violet’s gaze swept the room, taking in his space, inhaling his presence. His coat lay slung carelessly over the back of a chair. The bedding was rumpled, and flashes of their time in his dungeon rose unbidden in her mind. No bloody rags. No trace of blood lingering in the air.
Only Drake.
Pure Drake.
The chamber was not all that different from hers, save for the small signs of habitation. A book lay open upon the table, turned facedown. A closed ledger rested in the corner, a quill beside it, and half a bottle of cognac nearby. His boots stood abandoned at the chair’s feet. It struck Violet as far too normal for a man such as him. She’d half expected weapons to line the walls and be scattered across the desk.
How unexpected.
She glanced back at him, her gaze dropping to his bare feet first, strong feet, drifting up his legs, powerful legs, to his very bare chest, imposing chest, wrapped only in white bandages before meeting his flat, but somehow hot, and formidable, stare. Her gaze ran over the equally formidable scar. She had the urge to trace it with the tip of her finger.
