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She stopped herself, but the implication hung between us.

“Just what?” I demanded.

“Just people,” she finished softly. “Like me.”

The silence stretched. Garrick and Adeline both looked ready to intervene.

Then the whiskey and anger and want all collided at once, and I shifted my chair closer to hers. Close enough that our knees brushed under the table.

She didn't pull away.

“You're playing a dangerous game,” I said, through my teeth.

“Am I?” She tilted her head, studying me with those impossibly blue eyes. “Or are you?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.” Her gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there long enough to make heat coil in my gut. “You're a hunter. I'm a stranger with no history here. And you've been keeping me in your house anyway.”

“Lily—”

“What if I'm exactly what you're supposed to destroy?” Her voice dropped, turned velvet-soft and lethal. “What if I'm the monster, August? One of the ones the Unraveler wants erased from existence?”

Heat crawled up my spine. “You're not⁠—”

“Prove it.” Her eyes blazed. “Tell me you wouldn't hand me over. Tell me you'd choose me over your duty.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Because I didn't know the answer. Didn't know if I'd choose duty or this infuriating woman who'd invaded my house, my thoughts, my every waking moment.

I should know. The answer should be immediate, automatic—duty first, always.

But when I looked at her, desire drowned out everything else. And doubt. And a terrifying uncertainty that had never existed before she crashed into my life.

“If you two are quite finished,” Garrick drawled, “some of us would like to finish our drinks without being subjected to whatever mating ritual this is.”

Adeline choked on her whiskey.

Lily's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't pull away from me.

“You're an ass,” I told him.

“And you're in over your head.” His grin was insufferable.

“But please, don't let me stop you. This is better than the theatre.”

Lily pulled back suddenly, the spell broken.

“I should go.”

“Lily—”

But she was already standing, smoothing her skirts with shaking hands. “It's late. And we're both—” She stopped, met my eyes. “We're both saying things we shouldn't.”

“Are we?” I stood too, unsteady from whiskey and want.

“Yes,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. “Goodnight, Mr. Hawthorne.”