“What do you propose we do?”
“I need to speak with my parents. They're expecting me today anyway for a family gathering in honor of my grandpapa. In the meantime, I can spare some guards to keep an eye on you and your brother.”
“We can protect ourselves.”
“Oh?” When I don’t indulge her unspoken request for me to explain, she asks, “Would you like to come with me?”
“Where?” Surely, not her parents’ with a house full of criminals…?
“I’ll drop a pin. See you at Morgenstern Manor,mon ange.”
Click.
I expel my lungs, dropping my head back. “Angels fucking bless me.”
IMPERFECTION
Poppy
Morgenstern Manor is a behemoth structure standing silent sentry over the sunlit bay like a slumbering giant. From here, the city is a portrait of winter paradise. At the arched doors of my childhood home, there are columns engraved with flora and fauna. Statues of gargoyles and pegasuses, angels and cherubs. Gardens, lush and flourishing even in winter’s grasp, sprawl around it all like a sacred forest.
“You grew up in acastle?” Brontë gapes as the valet parks his car beside my bike in the circular drive brimming with enough luxurious vehicles to fill any motorhead's wet dreams.
Purple smoke trickles from my scowl. “It’s just a house.”
“My house is just a house. That thing is the Colline du Château of America.”
“Which is…?”
“What do you think,Petit Diable?”
“A house?”
Brontë suppresses his throaty chuckle, but he can’t stop the edges of his eyes from crinkling. Fuck, I missed looking at him. He’s in his fitted cargo pants and black tee, his work jacket unzipped to show off the generousVof his tattooed chest. The gash in his cheek, pink and puckered, only makes the coroner hotter. The wound I gave him is a perfect imperfection in a masterpiece.
I stare for a few moments too long to be polite. I look away, but not before he notices.
His expression frosts. “Why am I here, Poppy?”
“Moral support.”
“Lie.”
I sigh a cloud of steam, in no mood to play this game. “My parents are about to learn that Quinn is a member of Leviathan. They will be pissed. You, as Quinn’s friend and colleague, are guilty by association. You are here to prove you’re an ally.”
His brow flattens. “I don’t need to prove anything.”
“You do if you want to live past noon.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise, Brontë. If you leave now, there’s no chance in hell they’re not sending me after you to drag you back here for a far less casual visit.”
“Drag me back?” He folds his thick arms over his broad chest. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I think you already know I’m capable.” I glance pointedly at his scar.
“You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”