Deep underwater was a world of murky greens and silvers with streaks of sunlight piercing through the undulating surface. By using small fluttering movements of my arms, it kept me at the depth I wanted to stay. Silver-scaled fish darted through the gloom of the water, winding around my ankles before swimming away with the flick of a tail.

In a streak of speed, a gremleen shot out of the dark, spearing a fish with its talons.

The black-scaled gremleen was smaller than me with thin, stunted limbs and an oily sheen to its body. The otherworldly creature stared at me with bulbous eyes and pinprick pupils as it devoured its meal. Tendrils of flesh and sinew were caught in the creature's razor-sharp teeth. Blood burst into red mist, drifting apart in the current.

We warily watched one another as it crunched through bone and scale and meat. I adjusted my position with a pump of my arms, and the motion startled the gremleen. It disappeared into the inky darkness, leaving in its wake a stream of bubbles. The creature would swim down deep, where it would blanket itself into the muddy bottom waiting for a fish or some unsuspecting soul to go for a swim.

It knew to keep its distance from me.

It knew it should fear me.

But under the water, it was silent and tranquil. I needed rest from all the imaginary arguments I was still having with Graysen inside my head.

The guy was a megalomaniac. Whatever his problem with Danne was, he wasn't willing to share. And I wasn't sure if it even warranted any headspace. He was probably just annoyed that his shiny toy—me—had another's interest.

But Danne was my friend. That was blindingly obvious. My feelings for him were platonic.

A loud splash—

Something large plunged into the water, enveloped in a blanket of bubbles and displaced water.

Graysen!

He'd dived into the water in jeans and a t-shirt, having only discarding only his boots. He swam down, his powerful arms and legs kicking through the murky water, searching, searching, searching—until he found me. Something disappeared from his dark gaze so swiftly I'd almost not seen it—panic, chased by relief.

We stared at each other across the watery void, each of us suspended, our hair drifting in the water like seaweed. One side of his mouth curled up and air bubbles escaped as he took me in.

Shit. I was swimming in just my underwear.

Poking my tongue at him, I kicked up, swimming up fast to break the surface and spit water from my mouth. Graysen erupted from the water a moment later, shaking his head like a dog to make water spray wide. His fearsome glare locked on me. "Fuck, Wychthorn, what the hells were you doing?"

Sluicing the dripping water from my face, I blinked, glancing around at the deep well of water. I mean, wasn't it obvious? "Er, swimming."

He slicked his hair from his forehead with a hand and frowned. "How long can you hold your breath?"

Oh...oh...

How long has he been watching me?

My gaze darted to the cascading waterfall that rushed from above to thunder into the pool. Behind the thick sheet of raining water was a cave. And if he'd entered the cavernous space, he wouldn't find it damp, it'd be tinder dry. The power inhabiting my body had been released in careful increments and now lazed inside, curled up and content.

"Long," I answered him, knowing it sounded enigmatic but not really caring either. "You could too. You just need to practice."

He'd jumped into the water, fully clothed.

I frowned, glancing up at the scrub-studded cliff face surrounding the northern flank of the deep well of water where he'd clearly dove from. "You were worried about me?"

He barked a laugh. "Of course not."

Liar. He was such a liar. Why couldn't he just say—Yeah, for a moment I was—how hard was that? "So why jump then? I mean, I'd have thought you'd have delighted in my drowning."

"I was more worried about the gremleens. You encounter a school of them and you'd become a nice tasty snack... And then they'd have choked on your bony frame."

I snorted. Gremleens didn't scare me. And I called bull-fucking-shit on him pretending he was more concerned about the gremleens welfare than my own.

But, Graysen had jumped in...to what? Save me?

And what was he doing here in the first place?

Spying on me?

I leveled a suspicious look. "What do you want?"

"Danne—"

"Oh, Gods, more Danne bullshit," I groaned, flicking up an irritated hand. "Can't you just let it go?"

"Go on. Enlighten me. You're clever, Wychthorn. What does he know about you?"

I twirled in the water, striking out for the rocky shore. "More than you."

"Doubtful," I heard him mutter.

I spun back, fluttering my hands beneath the surface to keep afloat. "You know nothing about me," I snapped. "Spending one day a month, which you use to pointedly ignore me, does not constitute you actually knowing me." But me on the other hand, he'd been a box of puzzle pieces I liked to sift through. There were little things I'd gleaned about him while he was stuck with me.

"It's not just one day a month. Since Evvie got engaged to that dickhead Pelan, there's been plenty more evenings I've been stuck with your company," he clipped out. "But you're right, I don't know you, and I don't fucking care to."

"Well, I know plenty about you," I shot back.

His laugh was sarcastic and it cut through the hum of insects and trills of bird-call.

Vexed, I shoved a hand forward, splashing water all over him. He snarled, wiping droplets from his eyelashes, the wet rivulets running down his face.

"Don't you think that while we've been together I've been studying you?" I tore my gaze away, glaring toward the other side of the pool where shadows plunged the shore into an inky green. "I'd be a godsdamned idiot not to," I muttered so quietly he shouldn't have been able to hear me.

But quiet was nothing to a Crowther. "Go on then, Wychthorn. Tell me. What do you think you know?" he challenged.

I knew things about him, far more than he did about me. He'd never shown any interest whatsoever to actually want to get to know me. I was just a chore he detested.

Sharp anger burned inside.

He was right, I was fire and brimstone. He needed to know I was onto him. The man was mean. Really mean. He practically didn't like anyone, only his family, and everyone else could go to hells, me included. Besides, he needed to stop trying to kiss me and getting all handsy. I needed to make him go away because this was dangerous, I shouldn't like him. I shouldn't like him enough to want to kiss him back. And maybe this was more about me, than him, pushing him away.

I turned back, my mouth a dispassionate line. "Your jaw ticks whenever you're annoyed."

A cold smile. "No surprise there. It ticks all the time in your company."

"I feel you watching me." Like prey—I might have added. "You hate being here. Hate having to spend a minute—"

"Every single second, if you want to be explicitly specific. Yes. All true."

He did. He hated being stuck with me. It radiated from him like a hot, annoyed heat, similar to the way my skin itched when I needed to release the thing inside me. But since he'd arrived at the estate last night, the wall between us was being chipped away. I arched a smug brow. "Every single second?"

The power inside me coiled and gave a husky rumble of delighted laughter at his exaggeration.

"Liar," I said, not waiting for his reply and refusing to give in to the sudden smile that tugged at my mouth.

His expression turned dark, he clenched his jaw, frowning, and glanced away. His gaze darted back when he heard the splash of water as I swam a little closer, wanting to provoke him further. Maybe I did have a death wish after all, taunting a Crowther.

I treaded water a few feet away from him. "The books you choose to read—you're not actually reading them—I don't know why you bother to pretend, it's so obvious what you're really doing."

He cocked his head. "And just what do you think I'm doing?"

"Watching the comings and goings of our House, our staff, the rotation of our security. What my father is up to. Who he talks to."

His eyebrows rose. "I'm impressed, Wychthorn."

"Buuut," I drawled. "You do read a lot. There's never just one book in your bag. You prefer Bukowski, Hunter S. Thompson, and Kerouac. But sometimes you divulge in the latest trashy bestseller."

His expression taunted me to keep going.

"You don't like some of the orders that come from Novak." I tipped my head to the side and my hair fanned out in the water. "I don't actually think you like being part of this world. Having to be at the beck and call of the Horned Gods."

"House Novak is our Upper House. I do as I'm told," he said between gritted teeth.

"I'm sure you do."

And then his tight expression softened just a fraction, and he asked in a low, quiet voice, "What gives me away?"

I leaned forward a little, whispering, "The timbre of your voice changes. Bored-as-fuck, rest assured. But there's the faintest trace of discontent."

He stared at me long and hard. I could see him mulling it over.

Which suddenly reminded me that though his tone had always been flat, bored, and dispassionate, this time with me, inflection had wound itself through in conversation. My resolve stumbled.

A mask? Was this a mask he presented the world? Cold, heartless, disinterested.

I glanced down at the water rippling around my body, trying desperately to shove aside the faltering hesitation and cool the warmth he inspired that heated my blood.

Make him go away.

"I know exactly which one of your brothers you're talking to even before you say their name. Kenton, you're somewhat respectful of, yet he has the ability to piss you off in record time." I tapped my mouth, pretending to think, then gave him a sly sideways glance. "You know I really must give him a call, ask him how he manages to do it so well."

His mouth twitched on the cusp of a grin. "Trust me, Wychthorn. Kenton could use tips from you."

"You're always sparring with Caidan. Mostly relaxed around Jett. And Ferne...you're softer with her." If that was possible. But it was. "You smile the most when you talk to her." Real smiles, too. "Oh, she messes with you just as much as the rest of your siblings do. You adore your baby sister. You're protective of her... Yet..." Should I say it? I wasn't sure if I should, but it was something I'd instinctively felt. "You carry guilt too. Something you've done—"

He tensed and there was a dark warning in his tone. "Don't say another word."

Okay, all right, Ferne was out of bounds. But one of these days I'd get to ask the gazillion questions I hoarded like a fire drake obsessed with glittering baubles.

"You like doing things with your hands. Your cars and bikes—you're always tinkering with them." His brow quirked. "Sometimes I've scented a slight hint of oil and grease on you and seen the faintest trace of them staining the creases of your fingers."

This was fun. With every little reveal, I unnerved him—that telling tick pulsing away in his jaw. We'd been caught in the current coursing toward a narrow gap where the water left the well to weave through the woodlands in streams and rivers.

Graysen drifted closer. He slanted his chin in challenge, waiting to hear the next thing I knew about him.

"You always fuck someone before you arrive for the day."

His expression changed so swiftly from surprised, to rattled, to defiant, I wanted to laugh. Instead, I tsked, giving him a condescending smirk. He actually thought I wouldn't know. "Her scent lingers." I closed my eyes inhaling. I couldn't scent anything on him, but I pretended I could. "I especially like the girl with the touch of honey and orange blossoms. You seem to favor her."

When I opened my eyes I found myself staring at a cold smile.

"Yes I do," he said. "Mela likes a good hard fuck."

Huh, Mela Văduva. And I thought she just liked girls. "I bet she does."

"We're not together, Wychthorn," he said, motioning a hand between us both.

I laughed bitterly because that was true. Water dripped from my shoulders as I shrugged nonchalantly as if his admission didn't cut painfully through me. I cared. My ego cared. And some stupid part of me was crushed he didn't see me in that way. But I refused to let him see me hurt. "Sure, it's insulting. But as long as you're getting it from someone, you won't bother with me. And I'll assume you'll extend the same allowance to me."

I flipped over, kicking to push myself toward the shoreline. As far as I was concerned this conversation was over.

"Like Danne," I heard from behind. It wasn't a question, but I answered it as if it were.

"If I want."

He surged forward, easily cutting through the water to swim alongside me. "What is it about Danne fucking Pelan that women find so appealing?"

I stopped swimming, holding my place, wondering what the hells Graysen really mean by that. Why he should even care? And what had happened between them and Ferne last year, that he'd torn into my friend, almost breaking his jaw.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it has something to do with the fact he doesn't scowl or snarl and snap or spit such horrible things. Maybe it's because he's actually interested in getting to know me."

Graysen's whole demeanor changed, completely unnerving me. He suddenly relaxed. All the tense lines in his body melted away. He shot me a sideways look, arching a playful brow. "It doesn't bother you?"

I frowned. "Bother me, what?"

"You know, he's one of those talk-over-top-of-you kinds of guys, cutting you off before you've had a chance to speak. He's always yapping about himself. Constantly. You should hear him when the Houses get together." He mocked a yawn.

Danne did cut me off. In fact, when I thought about it, we'd mostly talked about what he'd been up to.

"Soft-looking," he said, shrugging one shoulder, the wet t-shirt clinging to his body. "But I guess you don't mind that either. That beer gut of his."

I immediately felt defensive and shot back. "Not everyone can look like you." I instantly regretted it the moment his face lit up with delight.