Page 70

It’s not a question, but there’s space in it for refusal, and the moment of kindness nearly undoes me. No one in my family has ever given me the space to say no, to walk away, to make a choice that isn’t about duty or strategy or usefulness. Even Alexei, who loves and trusts me, has always assumed my loyalty is a given.

But Orien just stands there, waiting for my answer, the same way he’s always waited for me to come to him, never forcing or demanding.

My throat tightens. “Yeah, let’s go to your place.”

A pleased purr comes from him, and his fingers curl around my hip in a possessive touch. “I need to tell my people I’m leaving. Meet me at the side exit in five.”

He doesn’t wait for my response before he turns away, moving back through the crowd with unhurried confidence. I stand rooted in place as he moves away, my pulse racing with an emotion I don’t dare name.

When he disappears through the door to the back rooms, I turn back to the glass of water still waiting and drain it, needing it to clear my thoughts.

Then I set the empty glass down and head back outside, walking down the side alley with unhurried steps.

Snowflakes swirl in the security light by the side exit, melting when they land on my overheated skin. The side parking lot is almost full, and I scan the parking lot for Orien’s car.

The door opens beside me, and the Alpha steps out, shrugging into a jacket as he crosses to the dark sedan.

He unlocks it with a click of the key fob, then pauses to look at me over the roof of the car. “You coming?”

It’s not that simple. Nothing about this is simple.

But I cross the parking lot anyway. “Yes, I’m coming.”

18

Orien leads me to a five-story red brick building with narrow windows and an iron fire escape winding up the east side.

A thin layer of salt covers the concrete steps leading to the front door to prevent the snow from sticking, and my boots leave perfect prints as I follow him inside and up the narrow stairs to the third floor.

Beneath his jacket, his shoulder muscles flex with each step. The light on the third-floor landing is burned out, leaving the space in shadow, but my vision has adjusted enough to see Orien’s hand lift to the lock at apartment 3C. The key slides in, and the door opens on well-oiled hinges.

“Watch your step,” he says as he steps inside, flicking on a single overhead light that barely lifts the gloom. “There’s a lip.”

I follow, and my toe catches where he warned, the only sound my sharp intake of breath as I stumble. His hand catches my elbow to steady me and doesn’t let go until I’ve found my balance again.

The loft is bigger than I expected, though not by much. The living room opens to a kitchen with a used cutting board resting on the counter and a single pan on the stove. A small round table with two chairs sits near the single window. The couch across from a flat screen mounted on the wall has no throw pillows, blanket, or decoration of any kind.

A single bedroom sits at the far end, visible through a door left open. The bed inside is made with the covers drawn tight enough to bounce a coin.

I start to map it out the way I’ve been trained, automatic as breathing. One exit. One window facing the street. No decoration. Nothing accumulated. But when the door clicks shut behind me, my body moves before my mind has a chance to stop it.

I turn, cross the three steps between us, and grip the front of Orien’s jacket with both hands. “I don’t want to talk. Make me forget instead.”

Orien takes my wrists in his hands and walks me backward until my shoulders hit the wall, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

One hand releases my wrist to grip my jaw, tilting my head up. “You want to forget yourself? Then stop thinking.”

His mouth finds mine as his palm cups the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, holding me where he wants me while his tongue twines around mine.

My hands release his jacket, and my arms drop to my sides.

Orien’s fingers leave my jaw and curl around my throat, his thumb tracing my nape guard before slipping beneath it to find bare skin. The point of contact sends a shiver down my spine, and I gasp into his mouth, my hips jerking forward to meet his thigh.

He breaks the kiss long enough to murmur, “Stop thinking.”

Then his mouth moves to my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear, and my head drops back to give him better access.

His touch trails down my chest to the hem of my shirt, then slips beneath it, his palm spreading across my stomach. The warmth of his skin burns through me, and I arch into the touch, a sound catching in the back of my throat.