Chapter 31 WORDS BETWEEN SHELVES
The timer ticks down. Twenty-eight minutes start now.
I rake in a deep breath, the air thick with roses that’ll forever remind me of her, and stare at the monitors in front of me.
Fifteen screens—one for each room in the house. But currently, my focus fixes on the top right feed.
The library.
She just tried to break the unbreakable lock on the third floor. Then she cursed, lifted her leg to kick at the door, only to stop herself.
Then she stomps across the hallway to her favorite room here—the one filled with books, of course.
When will she learn she’ll only win this game if I let her?
A wry smile tugs at my lips.
Lana frowns and stuffs a bobby pin back into her luscious hair, one wavy strand curling at the base of her throat.
The exact spot I kissed her that night at the club a week ago.
My fingers twitch as I relive the memories. The needy sounds she made. Her pussy grinding against me. How I bet if I slid my fingers underneath that tiny scrap of underwear, she would be soaked.
I could barely stop myself from coming in my pants like a reckless boy.
Like Kian.
Lana mutters something, moves to the shelf on the right, and pulls down the dark-red volume I knew she’d choose.
Greek myths. Hades and Persephone. I have to admire the irony that her favorite story mirrors her real life.
Married to the man she hates, someone with a soul darker than the king of the underworld.
Sometimes I tell myself I’m protecting her. The truth is, I just can’t stop watching.
I used to tell myself I hated her, that I kept her at arm’s length because of the role she played in my family’s deaths.
The reason tastes bitter and shallow.
Now…I just keep her.
My chest pinches and I sit up, waiting for her to find the surprise tucked within those pages. It’s a risk. One that might give me away. But I want to know. After all, Christmas is in a week and a half.
It’s her favorite holiday.
Did Kian leave a permanent imprint on her mind the way Elise did on mine?
Will she finally solve the puzzles I’ve left for her over the years?
Her lips tip into a smile as she thumbs the leather volume. I’ve memorized every line.
When the Dark Learned Her Name.
My mind slips into another fragment of the past.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dad’s hammering in the hallway again, the sounds giving me a migraine, but Elise doesn’t seem to care.
Ding dong.
Dad freezes at the doorbell. He and Mom exchange worried glances.
“Everything okay?” Elise asks. “Are you guys expecting someone?”
I scoff. “We never get visitors. In fact, my parents forbid it…except you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I told them you were my tutor. They figured out I was lying, but it was worth it.” Grinning, I cup her cheek.
“Is that why they have those rules?” Her brows furrow, obviously as confused as I was. I’ve stopped trying to figure out my parents.
“Yep. ‘Don’t bring strangers to our door. Don’t open the door for strangers. Be careful because there are bad people in the world.’” An exasperated sigh heaves out of me. “They’re paranoid. Who knows, maybe we owe money to loan sharks or something. But yeah, better safe than sorry.”
The hammering resumes.
Dad just tore the number plate off our front door. He’s muttering something about a reno we have no budget for.
I don’t buy it; it’s sketchy, but I couldn’t care less with Elise here.
She stretches happily on my twin-sized bed and points to the words she wants me to read.
“How do you focus with that racket?” I grumble, staring at the letters swimming in front of me. I’ve practiced so much, but I’m still far behind.
The damn glare on the page. Why is reading so hard?
“I’m tired.” Closing my eyes, shame curls inside me and heats my face.
Why would a girl like her waste her time on someone like me? Penniless, with no future.
Soft lips brush my cheek, and my groin flares to life. My eyes snap open, finding her dove-gray gaze, framed by long lashes, dipping to my lips then back.
My chest burns.
“How about this?” she whispers, the scent of her roses filling my lungs. I can survive on her scent alone. “We try one more thing, and if you do it right, I’ll let you kiss me.”
My heart stutters.
“Yeah?” My voice is hoarse.
I’ve been dying to kiss her ever since I told her I loved her a few weeks ago.
She nods.
She points to the page again, and this time, she slides a transparent pale-blue plastic sheet over it. “Try again.”
The glare softens. The words still.
“Better? I’ve read that could help.”
I swallow, a glimmer of something gathering in my gut, then rushing up my chest. Pride.
“They’ve stopped swimming, the letters.” I place my finger on the page.
“When the Dark Learned Her Name: A Tale of Hades and Persephone,” I slowly read. It’s working. The words are staying. “Your favorite story.”
“You did it!” She grins, sets down my book, and climbs onto my lap.
My heart batters against my rib cage. My lungs forget how to breathe.
Slowly, Elise trails her fingers along my jaw, my face. Her thick brown hair falls like a curtain, hiding a shy smile. She leans in and hovers before me.
I close the last inch between us.
My fingers tangle in her hair, the lush strands wrapping around my heart, my mind, her scent of roses forever ingrained into my soul.
Maybe this is when my soul became hers.
I taste her. Her sweetness. Her beauty.
I vow never to kiss anyone else for as long as I live.
My lips tingle as the present rushes back.
Her happy sigh draws my attention back to the screen.
She plops onto the navy blue chaise lounge in the corner by the main arched window.
It’s her favorite spot. Time and time again, I find her asleep there, waking in shock because someone covered her with a blanket.
She cracks open the spine of When the Dark Learned Her Name.
It’s a first edition, hand-signed by the author.
A sad smile tilts her lips as she begins reading.
The clock ticks, grains of time sliding through the hourglass.
Lately, it’s getting harder and harder to keep to twenty-eight minutes.
Outside these walls, the Berishas are stirring, the cousins still fuming over our meeting at the club. The Benefaction looms. I should be preparing.
Instead, I sit in the dark watching her, the voracious hunger clawing deeper.
The monster wants more.
My phone buzzes.
Geraldine’s Chocolates
Good intel on the audio, but we need more. Keep me posted.
I bite my lip as I stare at Special Agent Tristan Clarke’s text message. After the incident at the club, I sent him my recording.
A pinch of guilt niggles behind my rib cage.
This is the right thing to do. Partner with the Feds. But why does it feel so…wrong? I can’t possibly be having feelings for the devil. No way.
I set down my phone and eye the black dome in the corner of the ceiling.
The red light blinks at me.
Damn bastard. Voyeur.
This is how he gets his secrets, by spying on everyone.
But anger doesn’t burn hot at the thought. Instead, a perverse pleasure sifts through me—the idea that the Shadow King finds me interesting.
How he almost lost his precious control at the club.
Heat unfurls in my lower belly, curling down low. Since he made me come, I want it again. But I can’t seem to get there myself.
Late at night, when the house stills and my thoughts go dark, images of him barrel into my mind—his ragged breathing, the power in his body, his hard cock grazing against me just the right way.
I’d squirm, my hand snaking under the covers to play with my slickness, swirling it around my clit. The pressure would build, but ecstasy was always out of reach.
It’s like I’m addicted to him.
“Ugh,” I grumble, my face hot and mouth parched.
I snap the book shut and sit up.
A postcard slips out.
I frown at the deep-red rose design and flip it over. Strong letters, a masculine scrawl:
To my devious wife,
Instead of picking locks, why don’t you do something worthwhile with your time?
Fifth bookshelf down. Row three. You’ll know it when you see it. An early Christmas present.
E.
My eyes snap to the camera again. It blinks once—like a smile—then stills.
“What does the Shadow King want with me?” I mutter under my breath. “Why can’t he ever be straightforward?”
Despite my grumbling, excitement gathers in my chest. I tell myself it’s because it’s Christmas-related, but I know it isn’t true.
The thrill of a new riddle lights me up, and I scramble off the chaise.
I head to the back alcove, brushing my hands over the sturdy shelves, the carved rose molding tipped in gold.
“Okay, what am I looking for?” I murmur, standing in front of the shelf in question.
My gaze trails over the books. Culinary arts.
Rex would love these. My chest tightens at the thought of my brother.
He sent me a photo this morning, his smile strained.
Olivia leans against him with the twins in her arms. He’s worried about me.
But I tell him I’m fine, that Elias and I are getting along.
Apparently, living with the dealer of secrets has turned me into a convincing liar.
Asian cuisine. Mediterranean. Italian pasta. My fingers skim the weathered spines. Didn’t know the devil liked cooking too.
Then—a pink volume.
The History of Chocolate.
My mind snaps to the small boxes appearing on my desk each morning. All Geraldine’s. All limited-edition flavors.
I slide the volume free, finding a small paper box tucked behind it.
My senses prickle. Foreboding. Excitement. I’m standing on the precipice of something, and my life will never be the same.
Blowing out an exhale, I pick up the box and open the lid.
Tears sting my eyes. My fingers tremble as I lift what’s inside.
Something I never thought I’d see again.
A mahogany music box, with a rose inlaid on top, the wood polished and pristine. My heart squeezes painfully as I flip the lid, afraid to hope, afraid to look.
A sparkling red rose of rubies and diamonds meets my gaze.