Chapter 11
Ava woke to sunlight warming her face and Victor’s voice filtering through from the living room.
She stretched, muscles pleasantly sore in ways that made her smile, and grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor. It smelled like him: cedar and smoke, a scent that made her want to bury her face in the fabric and never leave this bed.
“…completely ridiculous,” Victor was saying into his phone. “Couples sports? We’re lawyers, Derek, not Olympians.”
She padded out to find him standing by the window, already dressed in athletic shorts and a fitted black t-shirt.
The sight stopped her in the doorway. She’d seen him in bespoke suits worth more than her rent.
She’d seen him in silk pajama pants and nothing else.
But Victor Morningstar in workout clothes, casual, human, normal, hit differently.
“Morning,” she said.
He turned, phone still pressed to his ear, and the hard lines of his face went slack. Warmth bloomed in her chest that wasn’t quite her own emotion.
“Derek, I have to go.” He hung up without waiting for a response. “Morning. Coffee’s on the counter.”
“Bless you.”
She poured herself a cup, savoring the first bitter sip, then noticed the schedule displayed on his phone screen.
“Please tell me that doesn’t say what I think it says.”
“Couples’ athletic competition.” He grimaced. “Grimm’s idea of team building.”
“Tennis?”
“And volleyball. And something called an ‘elimination challenge’ this afternoon.” He moved closer, fingers brushing her bare thigh where the shirt ended. “How are you feeling?”
The question held layers. How was she feeling about the sex, about the marks, about whatever strange new connection had sparked between them last night.
“Good.” She set down her coffee. “Surprisingly good. Though I’m having this weird thing where I keep sensing…” She paused, trying to articulate it. “Echoes. Emotions that aren’t quite mine.”
Victor’s hand stilled on her skin. “Explain.”
“When you hung up on Derek just now, I felt… satisfaction? But it wasn’t my satisfaction. And when you turned and saw me, there was this warmth that bloomed right here.” She pressed her palm to her sternum. “But it felt like it was coming from outside me.”
He paused. “Interesting.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It’s not.” His thumb resumed tracing circles on her thigh. “We should talk about it. But perhaps after the athletic humiliation.”
“Victor…”
“Lilith saw me in the lobby this morning. She knows we’re participating.” His jaw tightened. “And she brought someone. Marketing consultant from the city.”
Ava frowned. “She brought a date?”
“More like a victim, according to Derek. Something about the way he follows her: blank eyes, eager compliance.” Victor’s voice darkened. “She’s testing something. I don’t know what yet.”
“That’s comforting.”
“We should get ready.”
“We should,” she agreed.
Neither of them moved.
He leaned down and kissed her slowly. She felt an answering heat from him, not physical exactly, but emotional. Raw.
“That’s interesting,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Yeah.” He pulled back, uncertainty flickering in his gold-flecked eyes. “We should probably talk about…”
“After we humiliate ourselves at tennis?”
“After.”
The tennis courts behind the resort were pristine. White lines sharp against green, not a single leaf on the immaculate surface. The founding partners sat in shaded bleachers like judges at a tribunal, Azrael taking notes on a tablet while Beleth swayed to music only he could hear.
Other couples were already warming up, movements too fluid, too perfect to be entirely human. A woman from contracts served to her partner with such force the ball left scorch marks on the court.
Lilith arrived in white. The outfit screamed designer in a language Ava was only beginning to understand: tennis dress that somehow looked like couture, pristine sneakers that had probably never touched a court before today.
Her companion trailed three steps behind: tall, fit, generic Manhattan handsome.
“Bradley,” Lilith introduced, loud enough for everyone to hear. “He played varsity at Princeton.”
Bradley smiled. Perfect teeth. Vacant eyes. Wrong about his expression, too eager, too adoring, like a dog that had been bred for obedience until nothing else remained.
“First match,” Grimm announced. “Morningstar and Feng versus Ashwood and Bradley.”
Of course.
Lilith served first. The ball cut through the air faster than should be possible, leaving a faint trail of smoke. Bradley just stood there, racket loose in his hand, watching Lilith with that vacant adoration.
Victor managed to return it. Barely.
The rally went on. Lilith playing both of them solo while Bradley occasionally remembered he was holding sports equipment. Every shot she made was surgical. Every smile she threw at Ava dripped with poison.
They lost the first game. The second. By the third, Ava’s shoulder was screaming and her pride was thoroughly bruised.
“Having trouble?” Lilith asked during the changeover. Not even winded.
“We’re pacing ourselves.”
Lilith’s laugh was bright and cruel. “For what? The loser’s league?”
Victor’s hand found Ava’s lower back. Steadying.
“She’s baiting you,” he murmured.
“It’s working.”
They lost 6-0.
Volleyball wasn’t better.
If anything, it was worse. They kept calling the same shots, running into each other, their timing consistently off. Once, Victor’s spike caught the back of Ava’s head instead of the ball.
“Ow! What the hell?”
“You were in my zone.”
“Everything’s your zone! You’re six-foot-three!”
Meanwhile, Lilith and Bradley dominated their bracket. Lilith made him look competent, setting up easy shots while she handled the difficult parts. They moved together like Lilith was puppeting him, which, Ava realized with a chill, she probably was.
“Final event,” Grimm announced as they gathered in the gymnasium. “Elimination dodgeball.”
“You’re joking,” someone said from the back.
“Last couple standing wins. No magic, no shifting. Standard rules.”
Red rubber balls lined the center court like artillery shells. Ava picked one up and tested its weight.
“Strategy?” Victor asked.
“Don’t get hit?”
“Brilliant.”
The whistle blew.
Chaos erupted. Balls flew everywhere. Couples diving and dodging. Some junior associates who’d clearly been forced to partner up went down immediately, not even trying to coordinate.
Ava grabbed a ball and threw without thinking. Caught someone from accounting in the hip.
Out.
“Good,” Victor said, then grabbed her arm and yanked her down. A ball whistled over their heads.
Without discussing it, without planning, they fell into a rhythm.
Victor watching her blind spots, calling out warnings half a second before the throws came.
Ava attacking, knowing without looking exactly where he was standing.
When she lunged left, he was already covering her right.
When she ducked, his hand was on her shoulder, guiding her lower.
The sensation from this morning, those echoes of emotion that weren’t quite hers, intensified.
She felt his focus, his protective instincts, his absolute certainty about where she needed to be and when.
And threading through it all, his grim determination not to let Lilith win another goddamn thing today.
Couples fell one by one. Soon it was just them and two others: Lilith with Bradley, and a couple from finance she didn’t recognize.
The finance couple went down to a vicious double-team from Lilith.
“Just us,” Lilith said, spinning a ball on one finger. “How poetic.”
Bradley had two balls, one in each hand. His expression was still vacant, but his body moved with purpose. Lilith’s purpose.
They threw simultaneously. Three balls. Different angles.
Victor dodged left, pulling Ava with him. Two balls missed. The third caught him in the shoulder as he shoved her clear.
“Out!” Beleth called, delighted.
Now it was just Ava against both of them.
“You can surrender,” Lilith offered. “Save yourself the embarrassment.”
Bradley was already grabbing more ammunition. Lilith strolled forward. Casual. Confident. Her smile said she’d already won.
Ava grabbed a ball that had rolled to her feet. Bradley threw. She dodged. Threw back. Missed.
Lilith wound up for a fastball aimed at Ava’s stomach.
Ava caught it clean.
The gym went silent.
“Lilith’s out,” Azrael said mildly.
Lilith’s perfect composure cracked. “That’s not… she can’t…”
“Clean catch. You’re out.”
“Bradley, end this!”
But Bradley was scrambling for balls, his movements suddenly uncoordinated without Lilith’s influence. Ava grabbed one from the floor. Took aim.
Threw.
The ball caught him center chest.
“Game!” Grimm announced.
Ava turned to Victor, grinning, ready to celebrate—
“Look out!” he shouted.
She ducked instinctively.
A red ball, thrown by Lilith with vicious force, whistled over her head and smashed into the wall behind her. The impact left a dent in the plaster.
It bounced back violently.
The sound it made hitting Lilith’s face was magnificent.
The gym went dead silent.
Lilith stood frozen. Nose bleeding. A perfect red circle blooming on her forehead. The ball rolled away innocently.
“Unsportsmanlike conduct,” Azrael said mildly. “Throwing after the game has been called.”
“I…” Lilith touched her nose. Fingers came away bloody. “That wasn’t…”
“You threw a ball at an opponent after the whistle,” Malphas observed. “And then… well.”
Beleth was laughing, a tinkling sound like breaking glass. “Physics is so unforgiving.”
Bradley, freed from whatever influence he’d been under, looked around confused. “Did we win?”
“No,” Lilith said through gritted teeth, blood dripping onto her white tennis dress. “We didn’t.”
Victor appeared beside Ava, hand finding hers.
“Excellent reflexes,” he murmured.
“Thanks for the warning.”
To Lilith, he said: “You should have someone look at that. Broken noses can heal crooked if not set properly.”