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Kir clears his throat and pointedly asks me about another upcoming acquisition.
Goddamnit. This man and his subject changes.
But even as we continue talking, my mind is miles away, onMal: a constant shadow in the corner of my thoughts, dark and unrelenting.
When I finally retreat to my room later that evening, I’m hoping to bury myself in work. Anything to take my mind off the tension coiled in my chest.
The moment I step into the room and close the door behind me, though, I freeze, my heart lurching into my throat.
A figure sits casually in the big chair in front of one of the huge floor-to-ceiling bullet-proof windows, dark against the neon flickering of the city behind him.
Mal.
13
FREYA
My eyesslowly adjust to the darkness of the room. His ice-blue eyes—so bright and fierce that they almost give off a supernatural light of their own—watch me with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My heart skips a beat, a cold shiver running down my spine.
“How did you get in here?” I blurt, my voice trembling despite my attempts to keep it steady. The penthouse is fortified, guarded by Kir’s best men.No onegets in without permission. And yet, here we are.
His lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. But he doesn’t offer an explanation or utter a single word.
My mind races as I try to make sense of how he’s here. Of course he wasn’t going to let my defiance go unanswered. But seeing himhere, in Kir’s penthouse, the heart of my world, makes me feel more exposed than ever.
I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground. “I told you I couldn’t come,” I blurt, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice.
Mal still doesn’t speak.
“I know we have an agreement,” I blunder on. “I know what I agreed to. I just…couldn’t, okay?” Fuck. My voice shakes.
I hesitate. Again, I could tell him the truth—explain my condition, how dangerous it is for me to be out in the sun. But Ireallydon’t want to give him another piece of myself to use against me.
The silence drags on, turning the anxious whining sensation in the back of my skull into a shrill scream. Finally, Mal clears his throat, raising a hand from the armrest of the chair and beckoning with two fingers.
“Come here.”
His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. Awarningedge. When I hesitate, his eyes narrow slightly, peering at me, studying me.
Christ, he really is like a predatory animal.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
I swallow uncomfortably, shaking my head, my arms still wrapped around myself. “N-no,” I mumble.
“Then come here.”
He crooks his fingers again, sending a traitorous, confusing tingle through my core. I start to walk slowly across the room to him. I only get halfway there before he raises a palm.
“Stop there.”
I frown. Then, in a voice that sends a shiver down my spine, he growls another command that sends a bolt of something filthy flashing through my core.
“Strip.”
My heart skips a beat, keeping me rooted to the spot. Mal’s jaw tightens in the shadows and the neon glow, his eyes boring into mine.
“Now,” he says—softly, but the command is unmistakable.
