Page 37 of Phantom Flower

Rei’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched up.

Irritated. Amused. Both at once.

He glanced back toward the side of the house like he expected someone to come looking for him any second.

“I have to go back,” he muttered.

“Then go,” I said, releasing him.

Chapter 10

Rei Kurosaki

School was back on. The suspension had been lifted because Dimitri Morozov had decided it. I didn’t ask how.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, hoping to slip out before Mother or Daniel could corner me with another lecture about image and flowers and how I was making the family look weak. Marco had texted late the night before, asking if I was okay after the fight.

I hadn’t answered. What was I supposed to say? That I had punched a guy for him and the devil had shown up at my house to inspect the damage?

Dimitri’s black car idled at the curb.

He leaned against the driver’s side, dark eyes locked on me the moment I appeared.

“Get in.”

I stopped on the steps. My backpack strap dug into my shoulder. “No.”

His eyebrow lifted. “That wasn’t a request, little fairy.”

“I said no.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I don’t need a ride.”

Dimitri pushed off the car and closed the distance in three strides.

He didn’t touch me, but the space between us vanished anyway.

“You can get in on your own, or I can put you in. Your choice. But you’re coming with me. We’re having breakfast.”

“I don’t want breakfast with you,” I said. “I have school. And I don’t trust you not to drag me somewhere no one will find me.”

He leaned in closer. His eyes raked over the bruises on my face. I wondered if he was deciding whether to add his own.

“I could have done that last night. I could have dragged you into the car the second you stepped outside and taken you somewhere no one would hear you scream. Get in. Or I make you. And if I make you, we both know how this ends.”

I shoved past the fear locking my shoulders and walked to the car. “Fine. Breakfast. But that’s it. And if you try anything…”

“You’ll what?” He opened the passenger door, smirking. “Call Kento? He’s busy stalking Ilya. Call the police? They won’t touch a Morozov. Scream? No one’s close enough to hear.”

He shut the door before I could answer and circled to the driver’s side.

The car slowed in front of an old coffee shop tucked between two buildings.

“Get out,” he said. “Or I carry you in. Your choice.”

Being carried by him? Hell no.

I stepped out.

The coffee shop’s upper level felt like a trap. One older man sat by the window, but the rest of the space was empty enough.