“You’ve impressed me.”
“Volkov set a low bar, no?”
Alexander chortles into his glass, gesturing to the wine bottle on the table between us. “Help yourself.”
I shake my head, rising to my feet. “Raincheck.”
He nods, and I take my leave back to Poppy’s room down the hall.
The little devil is now awake, sitting against the headboard and reading my book with a scrunched nose, strangely out of breath. She looks up as I pat Jezebel’s head, her frown deepening.
“How can you read this shit? There’s no sex.”
“I told you.” I chuckle as I strip down to my boxers and climb in beside her. “Why are you up,Petit Diable?You’re supposed to be asleep.”
Her demeanor sobers as she sets the book aside. “I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways you could’ve been hurt.”
“Mm. Which one was your favorite?”
Poppy snorts, sinking down with a wince and using my bicep as her pillow. “I’m serious, Brontë.”
“As am I. Once you’re healed, I intend to make all your fantasies come true. Especially the morbid ones.”
“You’re so”—she searches the ceiling for the right word—“twisted.”
“Says the woman who rather enjoyed being worshipped in a satanic crypt.”
Crimson creeps up her neck, flushing her cheeks. I kiss each one, savoring their warmth on my lips. She threads her fingers through my hair, idly playing with the strands as she seems to consider what to say next.
That’s when I realize she hasn’t yet asked what I found at Scull’s. And I reconsider why she seemed out of breath while sitting still in bed.
“Were you eavesdropping?”
“Hai.” Her lashes lift, her baby blues hard as diamonds. “I was.”
“You heard everything, then?”
“Everything.”
“You’re quite calm, given the situation.”
“I was never close with my extended family. Don’t, however, mistake my quietude for apathy. Many of my cousins were children, some babies.” The same fire in her father blazes through her veins. “Leviathan will pay for this, starting with this Master who thinks he’s a fucking god.”
Pride swells in my chest. Banding an arm around her, I tug her closer. “Act surprised tomorrow.”
“I will, on one condition.”
“Name it.”
She kisses the angel tattooed on my heart. “I get to watch you play bad cop.”
I chuckle again, capturing her lips and refusing to let her go. I kiss her until she grows tired, tucking her beneath my chin as she dozes off.
Her breaths deepen, and my eyes sting. I haven’t allowed myself to feel the relief of knowing she’ll wake up again. Not until now, as she’s in my arms, her limbs curled around me like ivy on stone.
Alive.She’s alive and awake and suffered no cognitive damage after nearly dying in a pool of her own blood.
The weight of nerve-wracking days and sleepless nights spent in endless limbo smacks down like a hammer to my head. I hold her tighter as residual fear shoves its rusted blade in my guts and twists. I fist her hair to staunch the shake in my hands.