Chapter 30
EVA
I hurl myself off the bed so quickly, my head clouds.
Still, I jump off the bed, pulling the covers with me, then wrapping them around myself and holding them tight against my chest.
“Are you crazy?” I yell at Mason. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Move in with him and his psycho friends?
Nope. Not going to happen.
“You are safer here.” He leans back on the headboard with a lazy smile curved at his mouth.
“I’m safe at Charlton House.” I throw out a hand, then grab the sheets when they slide down my front and tuck them in with both hands. “Or did you not notice the guards in black suits?”
“I don’t like other men around you.” He lifts a shoulder.
“I don’t care,” I seethe. “I’m not living with the three scariest people in Fort.”
“One,” he corrects me.
My eyebrows scrunch together. “What about Kane and Hugo?”
“Like I said, I don’t like other men around you. They won’t be returning while you’re here.”
My jaw drops, nearly unhinged. He kicked them out?
Does he mean - Just him and me? The thought of having him near me, freely, flutters in my stomach, making my heart play tricks on me while I try to focus.
I really shouldn’t have crossed my limit of ten drinks tonight.
If I hadn’t, maybe I would have noticed my involuntary relocation.
“Dan and Jack would never agree,” I state like it’s a fact. It is.
“Let me see how many fucks I have to give.” He raises an empty hand, then places it on the mattress next to him and draws a circle. “Now, come back to bed.”
I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to budge. He lets out a deep sigh.
“You know I’m right,” he drawls. “I broke into your house every night without fail, and your guards were none the wiser. Granted, being me brings a higher level of access.” He shrugs, an evil smirk painting his lips.
“But I’m not taking any chances. You’re at more risk now that everyone knows you’re with me. ”
“Whose fault is that?” I snap. His grin widens. And that ticks me off. “You did this on purpose. Admit it.”
“Genius, no?” he says, like a dick.
I stare at him, unamused. Nothing is ever simple with him. As soon as I start to wrap my head around his shenanigans, he throws something new at me.
When I don’t speak for a long minute, he lets out a long exhale. “Wouldn’t you prefer to have me around rather than your guards?”
I open my mouth, then seal it. Well, when he puts it that way… but I can’t let him get away with this. First the post, now this, what’s next?
“You should’ve talked to me,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice even. “Or at least told me before you packed my things and brought them over here.”
“So, you could think it over ten times and shelve it for next year?”
“If everyone were as impulsive as you, the world would end in ten days.”
“It would be exciting ten days though, right?” He smirks at me as if he’s already won and is simply enjoying my reaction.
I hold his gaze for a long moment, my thoughts tangled and restless, for more reasons than one. “I don’t like my choices being made for me, Mason. I wasn’t raised to be some caged bird.”
“So, the idea of living with me is prison to you?” His brow arcs.
My lips part, speechless, as I consider his words. The thought of having Mason all to myself tugs at my heartstrings, feeding the insecurities that have been gnawing at me. But how can I give him more of me when he refuses to give me himself completely?
Mason takes in my defeated expression, then inches toward me and grabs me by the waist, pulling me onto his lap. My hand lands on his chest. For once, I’m thankful for the sheets between me and his groin.
“I’m still mad,” I tell him.
“You’re always mad.” He smirks and tucks a loose strand behind my ear. “But you’re safer here, so here is where you will stay.”
My eyes lift to his, my teeth digging into the corner of my lip. “You expect me to live with you, when you wouldn’t even let me see you without your T-shirt?”
His eye twitches, his shoulders tighten, then he grabs the back of his T-shirt and pulls the cotton off in one swing.
I gasp, my breath clogged in my throat.
His chest is as I imagined, ripped and packed—the perfect six-pack, muscles drawn in neat lines.
The tattoos on his arms trail to his ribs.
The phrase Memento mori is curled on his chest, right above…
a deep scar. My whole body recoils in silent tremors as one trembling finger traces that scar, then the one on his side, and a third across his stomach.
“Don’t make me regret this.” He wipes something wet under my eye. “This is why I don’t take it off. Not because of whatever else you had cooked up in your head.”
“When?” I sniff.
“I was fourteen.”
Did he say fourteen?
My gaze flicks between his face and the scars. They are not like the wounds he is usually covered in. No, these are deep, intentional, with the intent to take life. He was stabbed. And from the angles, it looks like it was done by more than one person.
“Is this why you always carry a weapon?”
“Yes, though I prefer to use my hands.”
“And these words?” I ask, tracing the tattoo with my index finger.
“Something they said before they dropped dead,” he replies, measuring my eyes.
My finger traces the length of his scar again. “Good,” I mumble.
“Does the morality police approve of capital punishment?” He chuckles.
Mason’s moral standards are so low that he actually thinks I’m some beacon of righteousness—I’m far from it.
“In extraordinary circumstances.” I nod.
“Like?”
“Like when someone hurts someone I love.”
His eyes meet mine again, and the air pulses between us like a heartbeat.
“Did you just confess you love me, princess?”
Did I?
I’m not one to fall head-over-heels for guys. Never understood the kind of fatal attraction that burns people down to wax and wick. But then I hadn’t met Mason Grant. Didn’t know what I was up against from the first time I was alone in his magnetic, dominating presence.
I tried to escape it. But my defiance only fed his hunger. Each attempt to push him away only made me what he desired most—his willing prey.
Not only did he tear down my walls and feast on every dark piece inside me, he basked in it. I was drowning. In memories. In pain. In the shadows. He yanked me out and poured life back into my soul. I will never admit this to anyone, but part of me wished I died with my parents.
I don’t anymore.
And he is the reason why.
“Do you?” Mason tugs me closer by the waist. “Love me?”
“Maybe.” I smile. “But at this point, it’s probably just Stockholm syndrome.”
Mason bursts into laughter and pulls me onto the bed with him, hugging me to his chest and tucking us beneath the covers. Our naked bodies coil around each other as his arms swallow me in an unyielding grip.
“Sleep little dove, or you’ll get dark circles,” he jokes with a smile to lighten the mood.
But I don’t want this weight on my chest to lift.
I want it to press down, squash me if it must. He reads my face, stroking my cheek with the back of his curled finger.
“Don’t have unreasonable expectations from me, princess. You’ll be disappointed.”
“So, I should give up hope you’ll love me?” I hate how my voice cracks.
“Love is easy, little dove. I don’t do easy.”
I was braced.
It still hits me like a bullet.
Heat clinging to my skin, I edge closer, resting my face on his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes again. “And what is Mason Grant’s version of hard love?” I manage in a small voice.
“Do whatever it takes to keep you mine,” he says in a deep voice.
“We should probably talk about what ‘whatever’ means for someone like you.”
He lets out a dark chuckle as he crushes me to his chest, legs caging mine like vines. “Later. Now, sleep,” he orders.
Falling asleep in Mason’s warm, protective arms is easier than falling. And tonight, with my face pressed against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, he feels closer than ever. Even if he did just confess he’s incapable of love.
My body turns slack in his stranglehold, as the dark, starless night threatens to consume me.
No chance. My darkness—the haunting, restless shadows that lurk inside me are no match for this god-faced monster with no conscience, no brakes, no sense of mercy.
Mason Grant is a creature carved from chaos who will destroy anything that harms me, even if that thing is me.
Is that enough?
Maybe. For now.
Breathing in my bliss, I take in this moment of peace.
My eyes close to the inscription on his chest.
Memento Mori.
Remember, you must die.