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I stormed out of the room, upstairs, and ran into Cato’s bedroom. His had a door I could slam. It banged against the frame—splintering the wood. It rankled to have Saylor tell me something vital about my sister’s death, and then for the Rogues to throw it back and say it wasn’t useful at all.
Groaning, I spun around and tripped—legs tangling in the Christmas lights and pitching me on Cato’s bed. Vision adjusting, I held still as though any sudden moves would make his room swallow me.
This was my first time in here. Cato was pretty territorial about the place, though he had no problem strolling into my bedroom and sliding beneath the sheets with me. This place was a type A person’s nightmare. Like his library, there was no rhyme or reason to a thing that was happening in here.
Christmas lights spilled out their boxes all over the floor beside a fish tank with water and decorations, but no fish. It looked like Cato was making something out of them—the lights arranged on his wall in half a design waiting to be completed. The wall next to it, on the other hand, was finished as long as the goal was to cover every inch of plaster with posters.
Movie posters, celebrities, bands, campaign posters, and affirmations, you name it. If you could blow something up and print it on glossy paper, Cato had it hanging on the wall sideways, upside down, or pinned over the poster underneath.
I pushed myself up on his black silk sheets, brows crawling at the black, charred objects covering his desk. One appeared to have been a pencil holder in another life. I could only guess, but I had the feeling someone gifted Cato a desk complete with holder, lamp, keyboard, and the rest, and he set them all on fire.
There wasn’t a dresser. His television propped on an overturned hamper and his bedside table doubled as a milk crate. Actually, Cato seemed to like milk crates because he had another in his closet posing as his hamper.
I stilled as his door opened and Cato filled the entrance, landing on me with an unreadable expression. He made his feelings on me coming in here clear in his Cato way, and it didn’t reassure me when he slowly closed and locked the door.
“Cato?”
Reaching into the pile of lights, Cato unearthed a lighter. The one thing he was ordered not to have, was the same item he made appear out of thin air like a magic trick. My mouth went dry as he lit the flame and bent over me, trapping me beneath him and the fire. It danced in his eyes, drawing me, a moth to the flame where a fate I wouldn’t escape awaited me.
“Luna.”
“Yes?” I whispered.
“We’ll burn it down,” he said, “together.”
My lips parted—to say what I didn’t know. Face crumpling, a sob ripped out, taking a piece of me with it. Cato’s arms encircled me, holding me all night as I cried. I fell asleep tucked under his arm, knowing my nightmares awaited me, but that Cato would hold them back.
I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING alone in Cato’s bed. The faint smell of his soap clung to the pillow, and his phantom touch clung to me. It made no sense that I slept like a baby when his arms were around me. It wasn’t that I felt safe around him. I knew he’d never hurt me, but it didn’t stop my hairs standing on end when he snapped at me or looked at someone like he was waiting for the next time they were alone and he wasn’t wearing his muzzle.
Stretching, weight pressed on my hand, making me check it out. On the finger where Victor’s ring used to be, sat a massive emerald ring set in a gold band and rimmed with diamonds. We stared at each other for a full five minutes.
This was an engagement ring no matter how you looked at it. The question was, did Cato agree and did he believe slipping it on my finger in the middle of the night meant more than gifting me another pretty, likely stolen, treat?
I wandered downstairs, finding Rafael flipping a pan of home fries, wearing nothing but boxers.
“Morning,” he called. “Sorry about last night.”
“Don’t apologize.” I beelined straight for the tea cabinet and brought out the strongest one. “You guys were keeping it straight with me. I appreciate it. You tell me the truth.”
“We made it seem like your conversation with Saylor wasn’t a big deal, then I shut you down when you asked about my dad.” Rafael came up behind me, resting his chin on my head. “For what it’s worth, I will ask him. For you, I’ll ask.”
I melted against him, burying my face in his chest. “Thank you.”
“I was thinking,” he began. “How about I be your escort today?”
