Chapter 5
BULLSHIT
Did I want to escape him?
That felt like a million-dollar question right there. Only a million dollars wasn’t at stake. My freedom was. But then, if that was the case, then it should have been a simple answer, but looking at him now, I knew it was about as far from simple as I could get.
Because for some totally insane reason, the idea of walking out that door now and never seeing him again felt too painful to even ask myself, let alone do.
Which was why the question lingered between us far longer than I was comfortable with.
To escape him… The words settled somewhere deep in my chest, stirring a quiet unease I didn’t quite know how to explain.
So, instead of answering him, I found myself shaking my head slightly.
My gaze dropped to my hands as though the fabric beneath my fingers had suddenly become fascinating enough to study.
I didn’t trust my voice to answer him honestly, not when the truth felt far more complicated than a simple yes or no.
Which also meant that, for a few seconds, the room remained completely still.
The silence stretched between us until it felt almost tangible, and then I heard the faint sound of movement as he stepped forward.
The quiet rhythm of his footsteps across the floor sent an unexpected flutter through my stomach. But before he could close the distance between us, I pushed myself up from the couch, brushing my palms down the sides of my skirt more out of habit than necessity.
“I don’t want to answer that,” I muttered quickly, already turning as if the simple act of moving away might somehow dissolve the question he had placed between us.
However, I had barely taken a step when his hand closed around my wrist, shackling it.
The contact was gentle, yet it stopped me instantly.
The warmth of his fingers curling around my wrist sent a small, unexpected jolt through me, before I could even think to pull away.
For a fraction of a second, I simply stared at the place where he held me, acutely aware of the quiet strength in his grip and the strange steadiness of it.
As though the gesture had never been in doubt.
Then he drew me back toward him.
The movement was unhurried, almost effortless, guiding me the single step I had tried to take until I found myself standing directly in front of him once more.
The closeness between us felt different now, heavier somehow.
But before I could decide whether to step away again, his other hand settled lightly against my waist, steadying me there.
It wasn’t forceful. No, if anything, the touch was careful. His palm was resting just firmly enough against the curve of my side to make it clear that leaving was no longer the simple option it had been a moment ago. And the worst part was that I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted it to be.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His gaze rested on me with a quiet intensity that made my pulse quicken. Then, when he finally did speak, his voice was softer than I had expected, the words carrying none of the sharp edge I had braced myself for.
“Does the question frighten you?” The gentleness in his tone caught me off guard, and for a second, I considered lying. Perhaps offering some careless response that might allow me to step away again without exposing the truth sitting heavily in my chest.
But the closeness between us made that impossible. So instead, I admitted quietly,
“Yes.”
His hand shifted slightly where it rested against my side, the subtle pressure grounding in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
“Why?” The question was simple, yet the answer felt anything but.
Which was why I hesitated before speaking, my voice quieter now, before admitting,
“Because I don’t belong here.”
A soft breath left him, something close to a sigh, though the faint shake of his head told me he didn’t agree with that statement in the slightest.
“That’s not true.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes. Which was why my gaze lingered stubbornly somewhere near the collar of his shirt, as though focusing there might somehow make the conversation easier. Goddess, but why did even his neck look sexy!
“Look at me,” he murmured and, naturally, I hesitated.
I even considered refusing, instead keeping my attention fixed safely away from the intensity of his gaze. But the quiet patience in his voice eventually wore down my resistance, and my eyes slowly lifted to meet his.
The moment they did, the words I had been trying to keep contained slipped free before I could stop them.
“I’m not who you think I am,” I said softly, the confession leaving my chest in a breath that felt heavier than the words themselves.
“I’m not… not your Siren.” The weight of these words almost made it hard to breathe.
Because I was finally admitting to myself that was the only reason I was here.
It wasn’t just Bo and the innocent crime of a mortal summoning a demon.
But the fact that he believed one of the Sirens’ descendants had done it.
That he somehow believed that I belonged in his world, when I already knew that I didn’t.
What was even more confusing was the secret knowledge that half of me wished that I did.
He didn’t answer me at first. But the weight of his stare felt as if we didn’t need words between us. No, all we needed was for him to realize his mistake and to let me go.
But that didn’t happen. No, instead, the air between us felt as if it had shifted in some subtle but undeniable way.
I became acutely aware of how close he was standing.
Of the quiet steadiness of his hands at my waist. Of the warmth of his breath that brushed faintly against my temple every time he exhaled.
Part of me expected him to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. Another part of me feared he might agree.
Instead, he leaned closer.
The movement was slow enough that I felt it before I fully registered it. The space between us narrowing until the faint warmth of his breath brushed against my ear and sent a quiet shiver down my spine.
“But I think you are,” he whispered in a heady, seductive tone.
The words settled between us with a quiet certainty that made it impossible to dismiss them as teasing or assumption.
Hence why I simply stood there, not knowing what to do.
And the most unsettling part was that a small, treacherous part of me wondered if he might be right. Or if I just wanted him to be.
Fuck, I was so confused!
I didn’t know what I wanted, and that was honestly what terrified me the most.
As for Oblivion, the quiet certainty in his voice lingered long after the words themselves had faded.
It would have been easier if he had sounded teasing, or dismissive, or even arrogant.
Because then I could have brushed it aside as just another piece of the strange, overwhelming puzzle that Oblivion seemed to be.
But he hadn’t.
He had said it with absolute conviction.
And unfortunately, that meant my mind, stubborn as ever, began searching for something safer to argue about.
Which inevitably brought us back to Bo because, right now, that seemed like a safer conversation to have, which in itself was ironic and that was why I asked,
“Will you let Bo stay?”
He released a deep sigh and leaned closer still.
“I know what you are doing, little Inanna,” he whispered, and my breath caught.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He inhaled deeply then, as if taking in the scent of me and trying to detect the lie.
Which was why I wasn’t surprised when he then muttered a confident and smug sounding,
“I call bullshit.”
The knowing confidence in his voice lingered between us long after the words themselves had settled, and for a moment I simply stared at him. Now painfully aware that my attempt to redirect the conversation had failed before it had even properly begun.
Which, if I were being honest with myself, made me even more nervous. Because Oblivion hadn’t yet stepped away. No, if anything, he had moved closer.
His hand still rested against my waist with that same steady pressure.
His thumb occasionally shifted in small, absent circles against the fabric of my skirt, as though he had forgotten it was there.
The warmth of it seeped through the material and into my skin, making it far harder than it should have been to focus on anything sensible.
Like the fact that he still believed I was a Siren.
Or the possibility that this entire moment, this closeness, this careful attention he seemed so intent on giving me, might simply be another way to lower my guard. Just another way to get closer to the one thing he actually wanted…
To imprison Bo.
That thought alone was enough to drag my mind back into focus, and before the silence between us could stretch any further, I forced the words out.
“So, what happens to him now?”
Oblivion’s brow shifted slightly, and I wondered if he was going to call me out for trying to change the subject again.
“Ah, back to the demon once again, I see,” he said after sighing.
“I can’t help but be concerned for him,” I replied, prompting the tick in his jawline that was far too distracting. Seriously, why did men need cheekbones like that, and I wasn’t even going to get started on the sweep of his long black lashes that had no right being on a man.
“Yes, I can see that,” he said bitterly, and it was with enough bite that when I took a step back, he didn’t try to stop me.
“Well, I think it’s a fairly reasonable reaction considering he’s the one currently hiding from you.”
The corner of his mouth moved faintly at that, though whether it was amusement or mild irritation I honestly couldn’t tell.