Page 76 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Finn swears, Hayes groans, and Rosie laughs like she’s heard something sweet. Ryewood leans back with a sound of defeat and an undeniable smile on his face.

“Devastating as always, Gemma.”

The way he says my name threads through the space between us with a charge.

The game continues, and so do the whiskeys. And Ryewood…Ryewood keeps finding ways to get closer without crossing lines. His knee presses firmer against mine, steady and all-consuming. His hand finds the back of my chair, not touching me, but close enough to feel.

“Your deal,” Finn says, sliding the deck toward Ryewood.

“So, Gemma,” Ryewood says casually, while shuffling.

His knee has settled against mine like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want to touch me.

“What else don’t I know about you?”

I smile without looking at him. “Are you trying to figure out my tells, Ryewood?”

“I’m trying to figure out everything, Gemma,” he says, like it fell out before he could catch it.

The fire crackles and no one speaks.

Then a chair scrapes back, and Grier stands. His face is carefully blank, but I see the tension in his jaw.

“I need a minute,” he says to no one in particular.

But before he turns, his eyes find mine, long enough for me to see everything he’s not saying. Long enough for the warning to land. I look away first. Because I know he’s right.

He turns and disappears down the back hallway, and the weight of his silence follows him out.

I caused that pain in him…again.

Finn watches him disappear, then pushes up with a dramatic sigh. “All right. Drink break, stretch, do whatever you need.” His grin turns stern when it lands on me. “Except you. I think you’ve had enough.”

He isn’t wrong. The room feels softer at the edges than it should.

The servant at the bar lifts a platter and lingers. Her eyes find Ryewood and me with a steadiness that only comes from instruction.

I feel the warmth drain out of the room. I stand too fast, and my chair scrapes.

“I need air,” I say, already moving.

The handles to the terrace doors bite with cold as I push through, the winter air hitting me sharp and hard, but not hard enough to clear my head. I inhale until my lungs burn.

Behind me, the room murmurs as Hayes and Rosie drift toward the fireplace, and Finn’s footsteps click down the hallway and disappear.

I grip the railing and stare out at the gardens below. Moonlight catches the frost on the hedges and turns everything silver.

The terrace door clicks open behind me. A moment later, a blanket drapes over my shoulders, soft and heavy, tucked there by hands that linger before pulling away. Then Ryewood settles beside me.

“I can give you space,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t want you to be cold.”

He turns like he’s going to leave. A stupid, reckless panic surges before I can stop it.

“Don’t go.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

I could tell myself it’s strategy, that keeping him here is the whole point, that Finn and Grier need me to hold his attention while they search. But that’s not why my voice broke when I said it.

He leans back against the railing, facing me, arms crossed loosely, and I make the mistake of turning to look at him. His dark green eyes hold mine, moonlight sharpening the angles of his face, and he’s open in a way that’s dangerous.