Page 250 of Black Reign

I should be frightened by how much I like being looked at that way.

Instead, I curl my fingers more tightly through his.

Just tonight.

One cup of tea.

One fire.

One impossible little fantasy that Ghost and Vesper could simply be Xavier and Sabine.

That there might be some version of this story where Blackwell doesn't stand between us.

Where Papa's death has an explanation I can survive.

Where I don't have to choose between the man I've been falling in love with and the truth I've spent years chasing.

Tomorrow can ruin it.

For tonight, I let myself dream.

He makes me finish the tea before he tells me to shower.

Not asks.

Tells.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m French. We’re dramatic.”

“Hot shower.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

He points toward the hallway. “Second door on the right.”

“You really enjoy ordering people around.”

“Only difficult ones.”

That almost earns him another argument, but the truth is the fire has warmed the outside of me and somehow left the exhaustion underneath untouched.

Everything hurts now that the adrenaline is gone.

My wrists.

My head.

My lip.

Places along my ribs I didn’t notice until I stopped moving.

Even my hair feels heavy.