Page 9 of Wraith’s Betrayal

"She mentioned it."

The shower shut off. Five minutes later, Raven emerged fully dressed in jeans that hugged every curve and a sweater that clung just enough to make my jaw clench. Her hair was still damp, face flushed from the hot water.

"Morning, brother," she said, kissing Blade's cheek like she hadn't just been wearing nothing but my t-shirt.

"Hey, Rave. Sleep okay?"

"Like the dead." She grabbed coffee, careful not to look at me. "What brings you by so early?"

"Tiffany kicked me out. Apparently, I'm not helpful when she's cleaning."

"Shocking," Raven said dryly. "The man who thinks laundry is suggestions and dishes are optional isn't helpful with cleaning."

"I've gotten better," Blade protested. "Tiffany's training me."

"Poor woman deserves hazard pay."

They fell into easy sibling banter while I stood there like an idiot, trying not to notice how Raven's jeans hugged her hips. How her sweater revealed just a hint of cleavage when she leaned over to steal bacon from Blade's plate. How she unconsciously moved around my space like she owned it, knowing where everything was, comfortable in a way that made my chest tight.

"I should head to the garage," Blade said finally, standing and stretching. "You still got that interview?"

"Eleven o'clock at First National."

"Good luck. Though I still think you should just stay here. Pike Creek needs good people."

"We'll see how it goes."

He headed for the door, then paused. "Keep an eye on yourself today, Rave. And Wraith—thanks for taking care of her. I know it's a pain in the ass having her underfoot."

The weight of that statement—the trust in it—made guilt churn in my stomach. If he knew what I'd been thinking about his sister, how close I'd come to acting on it multiple times, he'd put a bullet in me without hesitation.

"It's no problem," I managed.

After he left, the apartment felt too small. Raven stood by the window, coffee mug cradled in her hands, sunlight making her skin glow.

"You didn't have nightmares," I said.

She turned, surprised. "What?"

"Blade said you've been having nightmares. You haven't. I would have heard."

"How do you know I haven't?"

Because I lay awake listening to every sound from your room. Because I know the rhythm of your breathing when you sleep. Because I'm so hyperaware of you I'd know if you stubbed your toe.

"Thin walls," I said instead.

She moved closer, and I should have stepped back. Should have maintained the careful distance we'd been pretending to keep. Instead, I stayed put as she invaded my space, vanilla and warmth and temptation.

"You know what I dream about?" Her voice dropped low, intimate. "You."

"Raven—"

"Every night. I dream about that almost-kiss in the hallway. About what would have happened if Blade hadn't called." She set her mug down, hands now free to torture me. One finger traced the edge of my t-shirt collar, not quite touching skin. "I dream about your hands on me. Your mouth. How you'd feel⁠—"

I caught her wrist, stopping her before my control shattered completely. "You're playing with fire."

"Maybe I want to burn."