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When I ask, I remind myself. Not if.
No matter how hurt Theo might be, I can’t risk spending another night in his bed or waking another morning wanting to stay cozied up to him.
When he walked me back to the suite with his wing draped over me and pulling me tighter to him, I felt safe and almost cherished, even if that was as much of an illusion as the enchantment they put on my bejeweled bag to make the clutch large enough on the inside to hide Monty in his mongoose form. Heck, I could stash a suitcase of stuff in there.
Theo knocks again. Louder now. “Are you ready?”
“Almost.” Did I lose track of time? Am I late? I step into the dress, being careful to avoid catching it on the stiletto heels that could double as daggers, and draw the silky fabric over my hips, tugging the zipper up. It sticks. I try again. Nope. It’s not moving. I glance at Monty who’s curled up asleep on a pile of clothes, his tail over his nose. No wardrobe help will be coming from my soul guardian. I raise my voice to call to Theo. “Can you give me a hand?”
He cracks the door open as if testing if I’m luring him into a trap for some stabby fun, and I have the pleasure of watching him freeze. I’ve flummoxed the unshakeable prince.
“You look amazing.” His voice goes rough, catching on that posh accent of his, and I want to hand him one of Meg’s romance novels and demand he read the dirty parts to me.
“Thanks?”Great. I sound like I’m not sure if he’s my mate, my prom date, or the pizza guy who has shown up with an extra-large cheesy flatbread.Focus. Shit, I have zero ability to quiet allthe noise in my brain right now. “Am I running late?”Story of my distracted life.
“No. We still have a few minutes.” He stoops to fit his wings through the doorway and walks inside, and I take in the full demon prince form, complete with leather armor and shoulder things that make me think of Vikings and hot guys on a movie screen screaming “Sparta!” The black armor stands out even more against his crimson skin, matching the places where his scarlet fades to ebony.
His claws and horns have a glossy obsidian look in this light, and he’s not bothering to hide the ruby of his eyes. He left his hair long, and I want to wrap the cherry-red tips of those strands around my fingers.
His swagger has fully returned, the momentary shock at the transformation of my makeover having passed. For a moment, I wish I could stun him again. My gaze drifts lower to his abs, and I’m working up the courage to keep going when I catch sight of a familiar bag in his hand.
“My purse.” Joy radiates through me. I haven’t seen it since I tossed it in the lockbox of the haunted house. In the turmoil of dimension hopping and missing my friends and my entire world, I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my stuff.
I reach for the bag, letting go of the beaded bodice, and the expensive gown pools at my feet with a loudswish. Once again, I’m reminded of how microscopic my attention span is today.
Theo’s gaze locks on my body, and I fight the instinct to do a little shimmy to celebrate whatever magic they sewed into this lingerie. It’s soft despite the lace, supportive despite the peekaboo teasing of its tailoring, and it nips and tucks in all the right places without cutting off my circulation. I could do cartwheels in this and not have a wardrobe malfunction like I do every single show. I want ten of these corset things. Until then,I’ll enjoy this one and its obvious devastation over a certain demon prince’s self-control.
I don’t realize I’ve spaced out until Theo’s standing in front of me, wings tucked tightly. This close, I can make out each claw mark across his chest and arms from the fight earlier. Deep purple bruising spreads over his skin. Here he is hurting, and I’m staring off into space.
“I zoned out,” I tell him. “It happens. I mean I try, but today’s been a lot, and my ADHD…” How do I explain neurodiversity to a demon?
“What do you need?” he asks.
“You’re not going to ask if that’s a real thing? Or tell me to just try harder?” I search his face for the judgment lacking in his tone, and there’s nothing. He’s not being dismissive or patronizing. He’s just being…Theo. “Why are you handling what I said so well?”
Of all the things I’ve done that could have potentially set him off today, my questions—which are reasonable given past experiences—have his claws clenching into fists and his eyes going horror-flick fiery. “Who didn’thandleit so well?” He stresses the words he repeats back to me like they’re blasphemy.
I could pretend I didn’t hear him or simply deny his obvious conclusions, but what would be the fun in that? It’s so much more entertaining to tease him. “Why? What are you going to do about it?”
“Kill them. Slowly.”
Shit, I think he’s serious, and I don’t want to admit how much his crazy protective vibe turns me on. “Uh, you asked what I needed. This thing tonight, the meeting with your dad, how big of a deal is it? I mean, how important?”Please for the love of all that’s holy, I need him to stop my rambling.
“Really fucking important.” He sighs, and I’m just glad he’s going along with my change in subject until his tail curls aroundhis booted feet with a reticence unlike my arrogant prince. “My father hasn’t been acting like himself.” Theo threads so much hesitation and hidden meaning through those words that I feel like this is a serious convo to have in my underwear.
But I don’t want to interrupt when we’ve come so far with our temporary truce. “Yeah?”
“It’s a private matter we don’t want the royal court to know, and my father hasn’t disclosed the problems with the portals outside immediate family.”
The realization that his fatheristhe government here hits me. “So you’re basically bringing me in on classified information?”
He nods.
“My meds are in my purse. They’ll help me focus.”
His horns lift, yet his tail—it sneaks closer to me, wrapping around my ankle. He scowls, but it’s not a scary one. I’m coming to recognize it as hispossessive, overprotective princeexpression. “My family shouldn’t force you to feel you have to medicate if you’re uncomfortable?—”
“It’s for me.” I pat his chest, lingering on the smooth muscles while dodging the claw marks and bruises. My touch shuts him up. “Not for them, but thank you.”
