Page 8 of Dark Night of the Soul

I sighed. I should get my gloves to take out the rest of my pent-up emotions on the punching bag.

Yoga was something I never got into. But she made it look effortless. I rolled my shoulders and glanced around the gym—which my uncle had set up long before I returned to England—trying to decide what my body needed.

I half expected Kincade to follow me in here. I sensed similar emotions rolling off him and figured he’d want to kick my ass to work it off. But he didn’t.

Ophelia moved to Warrior II. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure, okay.”

She held her pose, looking out at the wall across from her. She knew me well enough to know that I was lying. She didn’t need an internal lie detector for that.

“I know it’s not trouble in paradise,” she continued. “So, what is it?”

I snorted. Paradise. As if anything about Kincade and me had ever been soft or untouched.

“Does everyone know we’re sleeping together?”

“Please,” she said, deadpan. “Everyone knows he vacated his room after that whole Ark incident.”

Ugh. I hated having my entire life on display to the inhabitants of the manor. It was bad enough Grace grinned like a loon every time she saw us in the same room together.

I’d never named what we were. Neither had he.

Boyfriend would earn me a look sharp enough to draw blood. Significant other felt like something you selected from a dropdown menu.

This was neither.

And that was the problem. Not that the manor knew. But that I didn’t. I could survive secrets. I could survive whispers. What I didn’t know how to survive was standing in the space between us without a name for it.

Ophelia shifted into a Side Angle Pose. Her body was fluid. Effortless. Like she’d done this all her life.

She had.

“So, what gives?” she asked.

“The Brotherhood wants Kincade to come back.” There. I said it.

She dropped her pose and gave me her full attention. Her eyes wide. She went quiet. Still. She had history with the Brotherhood. She killed high lords for them. I guess that’s why I told her hoping for some shred of advice.

“That’s not a request,” she said.

My jaw locked so hard my teeth ached.

“It’s never a request,” I snapped, remembering the day Sebastian showed up on my doorstep and took him back.

They tried once. I should have known they’d try again.

“No,” she agreed. “When the Brotherhood wants someone back, it’s never because they miss him. They want leverage. Or obedience.”

I thought of chains disguised as orders. Of obedience dressed up as honor.

My hands curled into fists. Leverage. That’s what I was to them. Something to be used. Exploited. Something to make him bend.

I hated that.

Then she added, softly, “Or all three.”