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Her gaze returns to Eira, lingering with pointed curiosity, a riddle she intends to pry open with her bare hands.

At my low growl, she looks back at me, head tilting fractionally.

‘It’s unlike you to be so rude. And yet you’ve kept me waiting in your Tower far longer than politeness allows.’ Her voice is rough as sodden ash as her gaze sharpens with infuriating comprehension. ‘So I’m guessing the better question is, what are you so afraid I will see?’

12

EIRA

I’m being watched.

The unsettling sensation yanks me out of a delicious dream.

One second I’m warm and boneless and half-lost in the lingering haze of everything Valentin did to me, and the next my eyes snap open and my body jolts into alertness with a hunter’s reflex.

Valentin’s standing naked beside the bed.

I’m naked too, obvs, but my attention is on the fact that he’s not looking at me.

He’s looking across the room at a woman with jet-black hair and startling blue eyes, wrapped in shapeless dark wool like she walked in from another century.

My first emotion is savage jealousy. It hits so fast I almost choke on it.

And that… makes no sense. I’ve been in his Tower for weeks.

I’ve witnessed again and again who and what he is. I shouldn’t be surprised by the existence of women in his past, or witches he owes debts to, or whatever the hell this is.

And yet the sight of her staring at him – at his bare chest, the mark, at his more-than-an-eyeful junk – makes something feral and borderline manic surge in me.

I grab a handy blanket and drag it up over myself with a violent tug. ‘No one bothered to wake me in time for this naked show-and-tell?’ My voice is hoarse with sleep and irritation. ‘I’m devastated.’

Rowan, the witch – because I’ll eat this blanket if she’s anyone else – doesn’t even blink. She keeps staring at Valentin like she’s reading a book she likes a little too much.

I sit up higher, the blanket clutched to my chest. ‘Seriously,’ I add, ‘can you stop eye-fucking my boyfriend long enough to introduce yourself formally? Or do I have to start throwing things?’

One brow lifts. That’s it. That is her reaction to finding the Vampire King of New York naked in bed with a hunter while every ward in the room hums like a struck nerve. Her gaze flicks to me at last. One slow, unimpressed look that skims my face and lands on the blanket like she’s offended by modesty.

Valentin doesn’t move. And that worries me more than if he had lunged.

I shelve my worry as his brows rise with it. And yeah, I hear myself loud and clear as I feel his voice brush my mind, low and amused.

Boyfriend?

Don’t start, I shoot back without thinking.

His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers. You said it.

I said it for her benefit.

His mouth twitches. So you admit it is a benefit to be mine.

Heat rises in my face, furious and inconvenient.

The witch’s eyes narrow slightly, as she senses the exchange even if she can’t hear it. Or maybe she’s simply looking at me the way you look at someone you’ve already decided is trouble.

Valentin reaches for his trousers with deliberate calm, because standing naked in front of two women isn’t a situation that requires urgency, apparently. He pulls them on with the same control he wears like a tailored suit, but the movement looks… off. Not slow, exactly. Just heavier than it should be.

He buttons his shirt and the woman’s gaze follows the mark as it disappears beneath fabric.