Chapter Fifteen
Calliope woke with the creeping sense that she wasn’t alone.
Not in the comforting sense of Prince curled at her side, but something .
. . else. She opened her eyes to the morning light spilling through the curtains.
However, the room held a dark, intruding, provocative scent that hadn’t been there before.
She shifted and grimaced, the coarse fabric of men’s attire chafing in places no sensible garment should.
She nearly bolted upright when her gaze landed on a man.
A man.
A large man.
Right there. Beside her bed. Slumped in the chair like he had every right to be there, arms crossed, legs stretched out, head tilted just so.
Her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and heart.
Maxen was asleep. Or appeared to be. But even in this state, he looked like a predator only at rest. Honestly, the man resembled a sleeping beast out of a nightmare, or—ahem—a dream she should never admit to having.
Heh. His face was all harsh angles and deep shadows in the soft light, his jaw rough with stubble and brows slightly drawn.
He looked almost . . . tired. No. He looked worn.
And Prince?
She levered up onto her elbows and found him still curled at her side. Traitorous hound. “You’re supposed to bark at intruders,” she muttered softly. “Or growl.” Certainly alert her.
She glanced back at Maxen, only to jerk.
His dark gaze pinned her in place. Sharp. Alert. As though he’d merely rested his eyes but never truly slept.
“How long have you been there?” she croaked. Wrong question, Calliope!
“Long enough,” he said, his voice a low rasp that dragged across her nerves. And there it was again. A frisson of tension. That thing sparking between them with peril and promise and a heartbeat of its own.
She found the sensation both intolerable and craved it desperately like breath.
The charge robbed her tongue of sense, since instead of scolding the man for entering her room like a thief, she asked, “How in heaven’s name did you find me?” Down to her room, no less!
Not the barest muscle stirred. “Did you truly believe I couldn’t?”
“Well . . .” Honestly. “Brighton is rather large.”
“Not large enough.”
“It’s the wanting to find me at all that I cannot quite grasp. You shouldn’t be here.”
He pushed to his feet, stretching in a slow, unhurried way that made her stomach flip. “I should be exactly where you are.”
How could such a rough statement sound so sweet? “Because you find me suspicious and I drew a pistol on your brother and tied him up?”
The corner of his lips twitched. “Merely a day in the life of a Fury.”
She slowly sat up straighter. “How reassuring.”
“The fact I’m more concerned about is that you fled.”
“I prefer to think of it as a graceful withdrawal.” Fled was completely accurate! “Didn’t your brother tell you? I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“You’re not.” His expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped. “You’re not a nuisance. You’re not troublesome.”
Her heart fluttered, foolish thing. “You have your brothers. Your work. Your underworld empire or whatever your world is. You don’t need me—”
“Stop.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
He shoved a hand through his hair and slumped into the chair. “When I was sixteen, I tracked my brother Drake to a brothel outside Seven Dials. He was only a year younger, drunk off his arse, didn’t even know I existed. But I dragged him out. Cleaned him up. Fed him.”
Her lips parted, her throat too tight for words. Stars, this was his past. He was offering her a piece of his past . . .
“They were scattered. Bastards from different mothers. Different towns. I had no obligation to any of them, but I found them. One by one. Took them in. Even when they questioned my motives. Even when my face was as bare as a babe’s.”
Maxen as a boy. She would have loved to see him then.
His jaw flexed. “They acted like brats most of the time, but they were never a nuisance. Not when they fought, not when they got in trouble, not when they blew up half of Brighton with one bloody tavern brawl. My only fear has always been that I’d never live up to what they deserved.”
Her chest squeezed, sharp and sudden. This fierce, fearsome man, afraid only of not being enough. The imbalance felt so utterly wrong.
“My point,” he said, voice thick, “is that once I decide someone is mine to protect, they’re mine, and I will not fail them.”
So . . . he considered her his to protect? Reasonably, that should have alarmed her, but his claim did the exact opposite. “You count me among them? Yours to protect?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she challenged.
“You are my tenant.”
Just his tenant? “That doesn’t mean I’m yours to protect.”
“That’s not how this works, Calliope.”
Her name. Not the first time spoken from his lips, but this time, she felt the change in her bones. Dark and deep and permanent.
He was right.
That wasn’t how matters worked. Protection—true protection—always came at a price.
Either the kind spoken plainly in coin or the kind extracted later in favors.
Safety was nothing but a loan. And yet the main Beast of Brighton sat beside her bed, declaring her under his protection as if it were a simple fact. Immutable. Irrevocable.
A whisper of panic rose in her chest.
Because if she believed him—if she let herself lean even an inch toward the idea that someone like him could mean those words—what then?
What would happen the next time she stumbled?
When she failed to be agreeable, useful, obedient?
What if he looked at her one day and saw a burden instead of someone worth protecting?
She’d spent most of her life trying not to need anyone too much.
Attempting to remain insignificant enough to stay safe, clever enough to survive, invisible enough to slip between the cracks.
And yet what other choices were at her disposal?
She wanted to believe him.
But what would the cost be if she did? What would the cost be if she didn’t?
She was tired. Tired of belonging nowhere. Tired of imagining futures she never dared to reach for. Tired of fearing her longing. The infuriating hound hadn’t even alerted her of his intrusion. Prince seemed as though he had chosen, too.
She lifted her gaze to Maxen’s again. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t demanded. He’d simply stated and stayed.
Well then, let the tide carry her where it would. He might not be offering certainty, but his assurance was sincere. And perhaps—just perhaps—that was worth any peril.
“What if trouble follows me?” she had to ask. “What then? What if that trouble threatens you and your brothers?”
His gaze didn’t falter. “I’ll handle whatever comes.”
“Without knowing what may come?”
“I don’t need to know.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. To tell the truth, while she was grateful he didn’t press her, she didn’t trust his lack of curiosity.
Who wouldn’t want to know? They may be men with darkness and power here in Brighton, but would that beat an earl?
A countess? Their titled friends? Hopefully, Duvessa would never discover her whereabouts.
But hope was a thinner shield than her coverlet. “I find that hard to believe.”
The corners of his lips twitched again. “Wanting to know and needing to know are two separate things. I don’t need to know. For now.”
Well, she could always flee again when he needed to know and she didn’t wish to tell. “Do you expect me to leave my shop unattended while the ship is tightened?”
He arched a brow. “So that’s what prompted this? My word choice?”
She would never admit to such a thing. “I would have had to move in a few months anyway,” she muttered.
A light scoff. “We can discuss the extension of your lease another day.”
Her ears pricked. Now that was of great interest indeed. Except—he would still be her criminal landlord. Heh. Well, if that allowed her to live her dream, certain allowances might be made. Plus, she loved her shop.
“Are you a good man, Maxen?” The question escaped before she could bite the words back.
His gaze never wavered. “Whatever I am, I’m not good.”
Calliope didn’t entirely believe that. He seemed good enough. Better than her stepmother, for sure. However, she dared not delve deeper than that for the moment. “Well, I appreciate the honesty.”
“We don’t lie about who we are,” he offered plainly. “Even so, we don’t kill, my brothers and I, if that is something you’re worried about.”
“Well,” she muttered, almost on a laugh. “I suppose one must draw the line somewhere.”
He grunted. “I thought it best to be clear.”
She searched his face. “You make it sound so simple. To be clear.”
“It is simple.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. To be clear often times invited trouble, especially, she imagined, for a man such as himself. Regardless, probably foolishly, her heart warmed. “What do you need from me?”
He leaned forward, forearms braced hard against his knees, eyes lit with a dangerous glow. “Stay safe.”
Her lips parted. Stars, what was she meant to say to that? She could tell he meant those two words full-heartedly. “I shall try my best?”
He smiled.
The first smile he had ever given her. Calliope had never been dazzled by a smile before. But his? The tilt caught at the scar on his lip, turning the flaw into something devastating. She hadn’t the faintest idea where to look—his lips, his eyes—the whole of him suddenly, ruinously changed.
“Good.”
She eased her feet off the mattress, the blanket slipping after them. “Did you bribe the manager of the inn to enter my chamber?
He stood, moving toward the window, tugging the curtain back an inch to glance at the street. “Something to that effect.”
Should she even ask?
Let’s not.
“Peregrine brought you here.”
She hadn’t expected that. “You even know this?” Brighton truly wasn’t as big as she thought. “He only happened upon me and offered help.”
“He’s dangerous.”