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Yeah, fuck that. I’m not going to let her say no.
I race after her. “What are you doing out here?”
“None of your business,” she shouts back without looking at me. Then quieter, she mutters. “I actually thought this night couldn’t get worse, but shame on me, I guess I should have knocked on wood.”
A growl of frustration bubbles up in my chest. Then, I scan over her outfit. I didn’t notice immediately, too shocked to see her here at all, but she’s wearing a tight white dress and heeled boots. Her coat is long and black, but it doesn’t completely hide how tight and sheer that dress is. The anger rises in my throat again. “Didn’t you say you had a date tonight?”
I try to make it sound as if I’ve only just remembered. As if this hasn’t been my constant thought for the better part of the day. I’m not sure if I’m successful, but she seems too preoccupied to notice.
She stops, and I catch up to her in two strides. My breathing is labored, as every possible worst case scenario runs through my head. “Tell me what happened.”
“No,” she snaps. “The last thing I want is you here witnessing this.”
“And what exactly am I witnessing?”
Etta lets out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with her and angry with myself for being frustrated. It’s not even only about Etta. My sister’s belongings were found on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere, miles from where we later found her body. I refuse to let Etta become another statistic. I refuse to fail twice.
I lower my voice, taking a step toward her. “Get in the car Etta, because the only thing stopping me from going to find Dane right now is taking care of you.”
Her eyes widen. “Why the hell would you do that?”
I let out a humorless bark of laughter. “You’re walking alone, at night, clearly coming from your date. You won’t tell me what happened, so I’m forced to jump to the worst possible conclusion.”
She worries her bottom lip. “Nothing happened, and even if it did, why would you care?”
Irrational rage surges in my chest, exasperated by every other over-saturated emotion of the last few days. Does it fucking matter why I care? She’s testing my patience in the worst way, and soon she’s about to hit my limit. I’m not going to let her keep walking alone, I’m not going to stand here and listen to her mouth-off, and frankly, I’m done with this conversation. “Get in the car, or I’ll put you in. Your choice.”
“So, you’re kidnapping me? How do you think that will work out for you?”
Her tone is strong, but her eyes betray a hint of anxiety. Honestly, if I were trying to kidnap her, I think she’d drive me up the fucking wall. I love everything about this woman, never get tired of hearing her talk, but I do think I might get tired of listening to her whine—eventually.
I take another step toward her, so we’re practically nose to nose. “Look. I might have said some fucked up shit to you when we were kids, and I’m genuinely sorry for that. I’m sorry that my parents hate your parents and things have gotten so out of hand, but don’t imply that I wouldn’t care if someone was hurting women. I’ve never done anything to make you think I’d hurt you or that I wouldn’t care if someone was hurting women. My fucking sister is dead for gods sake, don’t you think I might care if something happened to you too?”
It’s probably more than I’ve said to her in one conversation ever, and I’m panting, my breath leaving me and allowing no more words.
Etta blinks at me, surprised, and then her angry brow softens slightly. “I didn’t know you were capable of an apology.”
I blink, rolling back what I said in my mind, and wince. I don’t enjoy apologizing—although, if anyone deserves one, Etta does. She deserves everything. But from the way she’s already blushing, I don’t think she’s ready to hear more. Not yet, anyway. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Okay, fine,” she says. “I’ll get in the car, but only until I can get a phone signal. My phone isn’t working.”
I glance down at the phone in her hands. There’s almost nowhere in densely settled areas where you can’t get a phone signal anymore. Nowhere, except for Stratford. Phones, and most technology in general—like my radio—don’t work that well around magic. Landlines and desktops with ethernet cords tend to work better than anything running on wireless alone, but it’s a mixed bag. “We must have been near an Order member’s house. My radio cut out a little ways back.”
“Okay, so just take me to where the signal works.” She looks at me sideways. “And don’t do anything stupid. I’m not lying, nothing happened on my date.”
“Then why are you walking?” I demand again.
“Because—” She rolls her eyes, but this time it seems like it’s more to herself than me. “—this isn’t kindergarten, Roman.”
* * *
Ilead her to the car, open the passenger door and wait until she’s settled in before I round to the driver’s side. Neither of us is happy. Her, because she clearly feels as though she’s lost something by accepting help. Me, because I don’t want to see her unsafe.
At first, neither of us speak. Finally, the satellite radio kicks back in and I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t even care that the song is awful, I just need noise to break the tension.
Alone with her in the library earlier, I could barely think of anything else but pulling her into one of those overstuffed armchairs, or perhaps fucking her against the bookshelves. In my car, with only inches between us, there’s little to keep me from thinking of it again.
