Her view of Oakley’s lifeless body had been brief, yes, but there’d been no obvious signs of a struggle. No scratches, contusions, wounds of any kind. Which was exactly why, even without the video, Embry had become suspect number one.
Powerful magic was the only true explanation unless the medical examiner found anything more. Surely, they’d know that soon, wouldn’t they? Embry had only TV and the movies to go on as faras what to expect in a criminal investigation—Daddy did estate law for magical people, not criminal defense. What would—
A creak of wood.
Embry’s line of thought extinguished as she shot up in bed and reared toward the window to the right side of her headboard.
It was ajar. A man’s hand was pushing up on the sash, while another hand was gripping the sill. Embry stumbled out of bed, snatching the first weapon she saw—her heavy, ceramic lamp—off the nightstand.
“Come any farther, and I won’t hesitate to use this!” she hissed, brandishing the lamp high above her head. She set her feet and tried to look mean, even though her vision was so waterlogged she was pretty sure she’d mostly be swinging at random.
To her surprise, a low laugh seeped into the night.
“Woodcross, you’re a witch. You don’t need to use a blunt object as a weapon. Youarea weapon.”
Rye.
She had to be hallucinating. Rye Knighton did not climb trellises and appear at windows. Not hers. Not anyone’s.
Yet when she blinked and breathed deeply enough to calm her rabbiting heart, his face sharpened in her blurred vision. Stupidly handsome and currently very smug, because, well, he was right. Even with all the magic she’d done that night to keep Daddy alive, she had enough in the tank to defend herself.
“Maybe I want the satisfaction of cracking this over the head of an intruder.”
Again, that laugh. Proof that this was real as much as the cool hardwood beneath her toes and the breeze ruffling first his mess of a mop and then the ends of her braid. “May I come in first before you take a swing at me? I’m not very accustomed to clinging to the side of a gabled roof.”
“Why are you on the roof anyway? Last time I checked, you had a key.”
“Because I have a flair for the dramatic.”
“So do I.” Embry raised the lamp higher. “Give me a real answer. It’s been a shit night and nothing about this makes sense.”
“I wasn’t sure if Lazarus was downstairs or upstairs, and I didn’t want to disturb him.”
That was fair. They’d started treatment in the living room and then moved Lazarus to his bed later.
Rye pushed up the sash farther, then leaned in. “I saw your light, rushed over, and levitated up here. I wanted to talk to you. Face-to-face, not over text.”
Embry lowered the lamp a fraction. Her eyes narrowed, and she blinked again. Not trusting them in her exhaustion and their sodden state. “You’re really here?”
“Yes, Em.”
“And you thought it would be a genius move to crawl in my window just hours after an entire vampire coven tried to kill me in vengeance?”
“I—I thought I was being whimsical, but… when you put it that way, I just sound like an asshole.” Rye glanced over his shoulder, into the night, and then back at Embry. “Do you want me to try again, through the front door?”
“You’re already here.”
It was more of a statement than an answer, but Rye took it as an invitation, even though she didn’t move a muscle. He hauled himself through the open window with enviable ease.
Solidly inside now, Rye stood and turned to her. He was wearing tartan plaid pajama pants and the same Raven’s Head drama sweatshirt she favored in a navy blue. His green eyes crinkled, not in a smile, but in an expression that Embry recognized as determination.
Finally, Embry’s body responded. She stepped back but didn’t discard the lamp. The cord tugged, at its end. Undeterred, Rye came to her and gently released the lamp from her grip. She surprised herself by letting go so easily. And also by softly asking, “Why?”
Rye placed the lamp safely on her nightstand and looked to her. Embry felt oddly naked even though she was completely dressed in one of her many matching silk pajama sets. The one she’d picked tonight was black, like her mood. Like recent events.
Perhaps because of this sense of vulnerability, Embry struggled to look him in the eye, but she did. Therefore, she saw as that earlier determination flashed stronger across his familiar features, hardening his jaw, his crinkling eyes, his full mouth.
“I’m here because I think you’re innocent,” Rye said slowly, carefully. As if he were sure she hadn’t believed her ears the first time he’d said basically the same thing at the coven meeting from hell. “And I’m going to help you prove it.”
