I glared at Graysen, my gratefulness quickly dissolving. He really had wanted to see my tits!

"In your dreams, Crowther!"

His smirk only grew wider.

I stomped into my walk-in closet and found myself a set of underwear and a crisp shirtdress in white.

"Oh hells, no. I don't think so," he grumbled, rolling off the bed when he spied what I held in my hands. He stormed into the small room. I skipped back, but he was too quick, grabbing the dress off of me, scowling at it as if it offended him, and was a hairbreadth from shredding it to strips.

"What is your problem?" Frowning, I snatched the dress back. What was so wrong with this dress?

He studied my face thoughtfully before replying petulantly, "I'd hoped you'd carry on the evening in the fluffy robe."

I clutched the dress protectively in my hands. "Why?"

He took one long step forward. I yielded several back. My spine hit the chest of drawers behind me with a jarring jolt. One more step and he was flush with me, our bodies almost touching.

Holy fucking hells-gate, it was hot in here. I flapped the neck of my bathrobe trying to get cool. The air had seemingly risen twenty degrees. Had someone fiddled with the air-conditioning unit? No, I knew it was because he was right in my personal space and hunger swirled between us. Holy Skalki, have mercy on me, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to resist this man.

Graysen's nostrils flared and delight lit his eyes. His hand lowered, and a pinched thumb and middle finger ran down the edge of my bathrobe to the V where the material overlapped at my cleavage. The backs of his fingers grazed my exposed flesh, blazing a trail of heat down my chest. "It's the tightest thing I've ever seen you in, and there's this gap right at your cleav—"

"Enough!" I held up a hand to stop him.

"But, I—"

"Stop right there. I don't want to hear anything more from you about my tits and ass—"

"And puss—"

I shrieked and clamped my hand over his mouth before he could finish. "Don't you dare finish that thought!"

But he murmured between my fingers, "Wet and pink and very pretty." Wagging his thick black brows, he added, "Well, that's how it looks in my imagination."

I closed my eyes.

Just breathe in and out, in and out—

A sharp knocking came from the door to my quarters, startling us both.

"Who the fuck is that?" Graysen growled.

I had an awful feeling I knew exactly who it would be.

With three daughters, my father wisely knew not to just walk in unannounced. I opened up my bedroom door to find him standing at the threshold. It was rather petty of me, but I refused to let him enter. His sharp gaze took me in—dressed in a bathrobe—then Graysen leaning against the door frame beside me, his size swallowing the space.

My father's cleanly-shaved jaw clenched, and fury burned in his blue eyes. I could see the words forming in his mind. What have I just interrupted? Instead, he gritted out. "I needed to see that you returned safely."

"I did," I replied coldly, folding my arms across my chest, and shifting my weight to one hip. I still hadn't forgotten about last night—how he refused to end Evvie's engagement to Corné.

"What did you do today?"

My gaze slid out of focus as the words repeated themselves in my head.

What did we do?

What did we do?

What...did...we...do?

What could I say besides hunting down an ancient creature to ask it a question, then getting attacked, Sage nearly killed, and myself almost captured?

Graysen answered, "We..." I felt his heavy gaze on me and heard the frown in his voice. "Rode the subway."

"The subway?" my father echoed, his eyebrows rising.

"For hours and hours and hours." That bored flat tone had returned to Graysen's voice, and he adjusted an arm higher on the door jam.

"That's all you did?"

"Pretty much," I answered. "I've never been on one before." And there was an accusation in that because my father refused to let me off the estate.

My father blatantly ignored Graysen and focused solely on me. I felt five years old again beneath that steel-edged glare. "Get dressed; you've missed afternoon tea with the Pelan grandparents' arrival, and dinner too, but we'll be gathering in the Great Room to run through the engagement celebrations tomorrow night." I was opening my mouth to reply, no, when my father barked, "You're expected there."

I flinched.

And though I didn't see Graysen tense beside me, I felt his fury rolling toward my father in heavy waves.

My father closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and dragged in a breath. His voice softened just slightly as his eyes met mine. "And Danne is... Well, you haven't seen much of him since he arrived, and he keeps asking where you are and when you'll be back."

Guilt trickled through me. I hadn't seen much of Danne since he'd arrived. But right now, with everything that had happened today, I just needed time alone. "I'll..." I chewed my bottom lip while nervously fiddling with the belt tied around my waist. "I'll see him tomorrow. I'm really tired—"

"You'll be downstairs in half an hour," my father snapped with a tone that brooked no argument. My stomach sank and I shrunk a little under his withering glare.

I felt a tug at the towel twisted around my head. As I jerked myself around, Graysen gently unwound the towel free, using it to massage my scalp and soak the wetness from my hair before folding it up neatly and tossing it onto the rolling office chair set up in front of my computer. Damp locks fell across my shoulders in thick waves. Keeping his amused gaze on mine, Graysen replied, "I think, Byron, if she doesn't want to, she isn't going to. So no. She won't be gathering with the Pelans tonight." One side of his mouth tipped up as he gathered my hair, twisting the length into a rope and slinging it over one shoulder. An intimate gesture—one I'm sure he had an ulterior motive for—to infuriate my father. I should have put a stop to it, but I liked it. Far too much. Especially the way he was smiling at me, his fingers teasing the tail end of my hair. "Don't worry yourself, Byron. I'll order something from the kitchen, and we'll eat here. Get an early night." His arm snaked out, and he spun me around, pulling me close so my back pressed into his front. My body sighed in delight to be enclosed in his sweet embrace. Godsdammit. Why the hells should he feel so good?

And then I saw my father's reaction.

Every inch of him bristled. His furious gaze dropped to the tattooed arm claiming my waist. The anger burning from him could have set Graysen alight. Shit, I felt scorched myself. Though, that was mostly from the feel of Graysen's hard body against mine, his masculine scent washing over me. The soft words rumbling from his chest and vibrating against my back almost drew a moan from my throat.

"How does that sound, Wychthorn? We'll make it a date. Just you and me."

Graysen drew us both back and shut the door in my father's face.

Did he? Did he just...?

My eyes must have gone wide and round because when he spun me back to face him, he pulled away to look at me better and frowned. "What?"

"You just..." I said, awed and a little bit worried for him. I pointed my forefinger to the door and back to him. "Shut the door in my father's face." My father could punish him, or worse, for that slight. He held the mantle of Great House; no one disrespected him and got away with it. Hells, even I'd be in serious trouble if I'd done the same thing.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "What's he going to do? Send one of his men to take me out?" He casually strolled away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "Been there, done that. And it's become exceedingly dull." That was a weird thing to say, and I was about to ask what he meant when he said next, "Besides your father has no authority over me in regards to you."

"Why is that?" He had mentioned it before. I'd witnessed it when my father couldn't do a damn thing to stop Graysen from taking me out for the day. But, it still didn't make sense. How it was even possible that my father would cave to his wishes, all the time?

Graysen turned back to me. "The Alverac we both signed. You're nineteen. And you're here with me."

"I get,"— kind of— "the marriage contract."

At those words, something painful passed over Graysen's expression—there and gone again in a heartbeat—quickly replaced by something predatory as he swiped his gaze down my throat to the parting of the fluffy robe at my cleavage. A thrill shivered through me. Everything I wanted to ask about the Alverac disappeared underneath that hungry look. He looked starved for me.

Oh, shit...

He took several steps toward me. "Now, where were we?"

"I'm getting dressed." My voice came out a little shrill as I dashed away. Over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of him before I darted into the safety of my walk-in closet. He tipped his head back, knees buckling slightly as he stared up to the ceiling and groaned in annoyance. "Don't..."

***

When I returned from dressing in my walk-in closet, I found Graysen with a tumbler clutched in his hand, investigating the little world of my living room. He glanced my way, looking severely put out to see me in the dress.

The dress had an empire waistline and was several sizes too big, but my mother always got them professionally altered so the arm sleeves didn't gape and the neckline sat just right. The crisp linen skirt was bell-shaped and flared just below my knees. Tiny pearl buttons ran down the front.

I padded barefoot to the little sitting area by the outside windows, where I liked to have breakfast in the mornings. A soft high-backed armchair sat near a round beechwood table, where several books of the Houses' history were haphazardly stacked on top. The brocade curtains were open, and I sat down cross-legged on the armchair, facing the window. I'd gathered some supplies to deal with my knotted hair. I sprayed a detangler over the locks, my face scrunched at the smell of jasmine and chemicals. Coaxing the comb through my hair, I winced as I snagged on knots while observing the bustle outside. Floodlights had been erected so the contractors could carry on working into the evening. The massive marquee took up a large piece of real estate on the back lawn. A team was hauling in big potted plants, tables, and chairs, boxes filled with gods'-knows-what—everything and anything my sister had wanted for the great event tying her to Corné.

Just thinking of Corné had me tugging harder at my knotty hair. I needed to find a way to stop Evvie from marrying him.

After I tamed my hair, I placed my comb on the small round table and became aware that Graysen's movements around the room had become agitated.

My eyes slid slowly his way. I waited patiently.

He prowled about, his gaze darting about the images I'd tacked on the wall, his temper flaring as the pieces fell into place for him.

I was sure, now that he'd seen me with the Uzrek, he could see the pattern in the pictures on the wall.

His black eyes flicked from the catacombs to the lake, where the Osthane lurked beneath the azure surface, to the streets of Ascendria where belladonna flowers hinted something other roamed. He stabbed a finger, with the hand holding his tumbler of whiskey, at a particular photograph. It was the thick autumnal canopy of an oak forest where the Orb-Weever resided in a lair made from the hair of those he'd slaughtered. "These are all places with creatures...monsters...others." He half-twisted my way, furious. "What the hells is this?!"

That was the wrong question. And he knew it.

His scruffy jaw sawed. I met his flinty gaze, silently.

"What are you doing with all this? Going monster hunting? Trying to find answers?"

I didn't reply. But he was right.

Lowering his head, he rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand, as he bit out, "Fuuuck." His voice dropped to a quieter note when he turned his head to look my way but didn't quite meet my gaze, and asked, "What the fuck are you, Wychthorn?"

I shrugged. I didn't know.

There was no point denying it. He'd felt it and seen what was left of those who had attacked us. Nothing. Not a shred of evidence to prove they'd even been there

I'd sought the Uzrek for answers and he had given me more questions. A few of them regarded Graysen. What was the Uzrek about to say before we'd been attacked?

He didn't know what he was.

And what did the beast mean when he snarled at me there was another I could claim?

"The Uzrek didn't just talk about me," I reminded him.

Graysen flinched—actually flinched.

My eyebrows knitted.

What does Graysen fear?

What did the Uzrek discover when he slunk into his mind?

As I rose to my feet, Graysen remained silent but pivoted to face me fully and he positively crackled with fury. His hard eyes bored into mine over the lip of his tumbler as he downed the drink in one mouthful. His lips curled back with a hiss at the hit of whiskey burning its way down his throat before he slammed the glass down on the corner of my office desk with a heavy thunk.

I held his stormy gaze, refusing to look away; refusing to back down as I walked right up to him. Without withdrawing my gaze from his, I reached out slowly with an open hand and held it over his taut shoulder.

My movements were slow and careful as if I were approaching a wild animal. Afraid he might lunge and bite. Afraid I might scare him off too. I didn't need to look to know his muscles twitched and his skin was prickling with goosebumps beneath my hand as I slid it downwards. I felt it. This mysterious awareness hummed between us like static electricity. I was positive that it coursed through him too. "I don't understand it. But it's there, between us."

"There's nothing between us," he snapped, glaring down at me, both his hands braced on his hips.

"Feel that?" I asked.

"I feel nothing, just annoyance that a scrawny whiny brat almost got me fucking killed."

I didn't need the dark power unfurling inside me to hiss—liar—to know it.

Graysen Crowther's a godsdamn liar!

I snatched my hand back as if I'd been scalded, and clenched it into a fist, shaking it at him. So be it. If he wasn't ready to face it. I couldn't make him.

He spun on his heel and stalked away. I headed in the exact opposite direction, throwing my hands into the air, and grumbled about how much of a stubborn horse's ass he was.

He wheeled around. "Horse's ass?!"

I spun back, glaring, and jabbed a finger in his direction. "Yeah, horse's ass!"

"How did you get such a sharp and wicked tongue on you?" He stormed back, his furious footfall thudding against the soft carpet. This time I met him halfway. We were toe-to-toe. "I don't hear those kinds of things from your sisters. In fact, they're boringly polite."

I tilted my head back to snarl up at him. "Aren't they just?"

We glared at one another, both of us quivering with fury, neither wanting to yield. Out of all the daughters in all the various Houses the Crowthers could have picked for the boon they'd been granted, they chose me. Out of the four Crowther brothers, he was chosen. It was some sort of sick joke the Gods were playing. Or fated. We'd been fated to come together. Whatever this thing was between us. Whatever it meant.

We didn't like one another.

I do.

Not like-like though.

The creature inside me coiled tightly, chuckling. I paid it no mind.

"Why me?" I asked. "For that stupid marriage contract. The Alverac."

His lips thinned and he refused to answer. So I chose a different angle. "Why you then? Why did your father choose you to marry me, not your elder brother Kenton?" The eldest being the respectful choice.

"My father didn't choose me," he barked back.

"Your Aunt—"

"My sister did."

"Ferne?" But she'd been, what, only ten, eleven years old at the time? My mouth fell open. "You let her make that decision?"

"I sure as fuck didn't. But no one else had a say in which one of us it would be. It was her right. It had always been her right."

What the hells did that mean? Her right?

And it was right there, one of the questions I'd been hoarding since I'd met Ferne five years ago and encountered the strip of delicate lace strapped across eyes that had been stolen. "Your sister's eyes?"

Darkness and rage flickered within the dark abyss of his gaze.

And still, he didn't answer.

"The Horned Gods stole them. Why?"

"Why not?" he replied coldly, staring down the length of his nose at me.

So I was right. The Horned Gods desired different. We were there to do their bidding so they could live on the outskirts of the world. For millennia, our Houses had served them. It was us who found the souls that extended their lives or unearthed the strange things they could use in their spells.

But what would a pair of eyes do for them?

What could Ferne see the rest of us couldn't?

She knew. Back then, when the Crowthers claimed me for the Alverac, I'd felt Ferne's interest in me. Graysen somehow had sensed my dark power slinking around him too.

Ferne knew.

She knew there was something between Graysen and me. "She knew that you and I—"

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. "My sister, you'll find, has a twisted sense of humor."

I wasn't quite sure what that meant. If he was actually admitting that there was something there, humming between us. But his gaze had skimmed over my shoulder and I knew where it had landed—the map I had of the catacombs beneath Ascendria.

Graysen rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and when his gaze sliced back to mine, his expression was thunderous.