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If Jin touched me, I’d have a reason to run.
He doesn’t, even now.
While he braces my chair arms, I count the silver lines swirling the depths of his black irises. “You’re the only one we ever let close. The only light we had when everything else was fucked.”
My heart jackhammers.
Jin doesn’t have to touch me to put me in chains.
I’m frozen.
Hypnotized by his bottomless eyes.
My pheromones prick.
This is not good.
I swallow. Jin close-range watching me gulp doesn’t help me find a voice that comes out small and dry. “Solomon is gone. You can’t keep waiting for someone who doesn’t exist.”
Just like I can’t keep hoping for the happy ending.
“Then who are you?”
“What’s left.”
“Your name?” Jin hovers, keeping my air like he owns it. “Give me your real name.”
“You don’t need—”
“I want,” he says roughly.
“Marisol.” The name slips out with no care for the consequences.
Consequences like a syrupy purr and a black-eyed smile as Jin rolls my name like sweet lemon taffy in his wicked mouth. “Marisol.”
My knees rock.
Jin smiles sharper, licking his teeth.
Someday soon, I’m going to punch myself in the throat.
“Just call me Serafina. I’ll be gone soon enough.”
“Because you’re faking,” Jin states the facts, but his all-tooth smile won’t switch off. “Because you say you’re not our mate.”
“I’m not your mate,” I repeat, mirroring his words but not his husky, bedroom rasp. Are we speaking different languages?
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“What else would you like me to say?”
“That you understand this is an act.”
“Marisol. I understand.”
I shiver.
