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The third tear chased the second as I stripped off my clothes and shrugged into satin pajama shorts and a thin camisole, trying my best to follow a routine.
I froze, the shirt halfway down my midriff as I realized I’d been following a routine my whole life.
Up until I’d turned eighteen, it was school, homework, books, and sleep, trying my best not to get in my aunt’s way.
In college, it was school, homework, and doing my best to avoid people. At the bureau, it’d been burying myself in legends because I didn’t want to confront my own life and sought an escape through my covers.
But here I was, Ariana De Luca for once, and I was tearing at the seams. A ripped dress I’d once loved and vowed to sew back together but had tossed in the back of the closet and forgotten before I could fix it.
The tears built behind my eyes. I could feel them pushing, pushing, pushing, trying to tumble past my stubborn irises, but I held them back.
You don’t cry.
You don’t cry.
You don’t cry.
You are not Jupiter. You are not Ganymede. You are not Apate. You are Ariana De Luca, and you do not cry.
I was thankful for the crash that forced me to push aside my self-pity.
Rushing to the living room, my right hand absentmindedly patting my hip where I knew my holster wasn’t, I had my other arm up, ready for a fight.
It lowered when I caught sight of Bastian and the tossed piano chair beside him.
He turned to face me, his eyes distraught and his voice so low, I struggled to hear him.
“We’re not going to find him.”
No, you’re not.
Instead, I kept my secrets carefully tucked in my gut, where they festered like a decomposed heart; crossed my arms; and swiped at my stupid tears.
“You’re unhinged.”
He took a step toward me, and it struck me how much space his body took up. He could break me if he wanted to.
“Do you fucking blame me?!”
I held my ground, my voice low but strong. “Tessie’s asleep.”
He opened his mouth but stopped, his gaze raking my body in my sheer pajamas and settling on my cheeks, which glistened with the tears I’d failed to wipe.
Stupid fucking tears.
Instead of picking and prodding at my weaknesses, he just stared at me. I felt broken, bare, and vulnerable before him, but I suspected he felt the same.
It happened before I could stop myself.
We eyed the door to the bedroom, where Tessie slept. I met his eyes and took a step toward him, pushing us both to his front door and into the hallway outside of his penthouse.
His eyes flared, and then we were on each other, our lips attacking one another so quickly, I barely had time to shut the door behind me.
He tasted like demons. Ours. Intertwined. Mated in something we couldn’t control.
I pushed my tiny shorts down my legs.
He pulled back and glared at me like there was nothing he hated more than me.
