Page 5 of Princess of Thieves

“Turn around,” I say.

Guy lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just turn your back for a second,” I say again.

Guy furrows his brow but lifts his palms into the air and does as I asked. When he isn’t looking, I swap the glasses—back and forth, back and forth—until I lose track of which one was mine and which was his.

“Okay,” I say, “you can turn back.”

He does. “Clever,” he says, smiling. “Somebody’s seenThe Princess Bride.”

Now my lips twitch. It was one of my favorite movies as a kid, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Now will you drink something?” he says, before waiting for my response. He lifts the glass in front of him, takes a small sip, then drains half the drink. “Delicious. Rosa knows what she’s doing.”

He settles into the chair, relaxed but intent on me. I can’t deny that in other circumstances, he might have caught my eye—a gentleman of a customer coming into the garage for me to tune up whatever sports car of his needs working on, maybe to banter with me if I was feeling particularly playful that day.

But now...

I grip the glass of iced tea, bring it to my lips, and take the smallest sip. It is good, cold and sweet, and perfumed with just a hint of mint and lemon. I take another, bigger gulp once I realize how thirsty I am, and then another, before setting it back down.

“Better?” Guy asks.

I don’t answer, just cross my arms.

“Fair enough,” he says. “My name is Guy Charles Gisbourne. I’m 32 years old, a non-smoker, with no history of physical or mental illness. I’m a golfer and an amateur marksman, a UVA Law graduate with an undergraduate degree from Georgetown. I know how to dance, have a great relationship with my mother, and no angry exes or child support on my record. I’m gainfully employed, and I love to travel.”

He finishes and cocks his head at me. I blink, bewildered. What the hell am I supposed to make of all that?

“What I’m trying to say,” Guy continues, “is I may just be the safest and most stable person you’ve ever shared a room with. I’m well aware of that fact. I’m not going to press my luck, but I would hope that the fact that I did you a favor—freeing you from John’s grip—would mean something to you and that you’d appreciate the chance to start your life for real. Noentanglements, no looking over your shoulder, no fear, and no lies.”

Lies. That last one makes me shiver, a bead of sweat trickling down my spine. That was what did me in. I fell for it—fell for dishonesty wrapped in a charming presentation, fell for something that wasn’t what it seemed. None of them were. They were shifters, shapeshifters—something that’sactually real—and here I was, shacking up with four of them. Now, removed from it all, it seems like a bad dream, like something I hallucinated. For all I know, maybe I did. They could have just as easily slipped me something.

“Look, you’ve been through a lot,” Guy says. “It’s been a long day. I don’t want to insist on anything for now. Maybe you’d prefer if I showed you to your room.”

“My room,” I say, stunned.

“Unless you have somewhere else to sleep,” he adds. “But I promise you, I won’t bother you. You’ll have your own key, and I won’t have a copy.”

I purse my lips. The phone digging into my back pocket is a constant itch. I’m itching to take it out, to look at where we are on a map. Do I even want them to find me?

Something Guy said sticks in my mind: freedom, a fresh start. I never really got one, did I? I didn’t even successfully run away from Sherwood like I wanted to. I just went from one scheming group of men to the next—a scheming group of men who are shapeshifters, admittedly, and who made me see stars with their fingers and mouths.

God. Heat twists deep inside me. No matter what happens, where I end up, or where my life takes me, the knowledge that I’ll never feel pleasure like that again hurts.

“Let me just check with Rosa to make sure she’s ready in the guest wing,” Guy says. He gets up, and for a moment, I sit still until I hear his footsteps disappear through the archway thatmust lead to the kitchen. I grab my phone from my pocket, swipe it up to unlock it, and look for any indication that someone is looking for me. But I don’t even know what it would be—some kind of notification from a tracking app? No. Undoubtedly, it’s buried deep within the phone, and I’ve only got two bars of service besides.

I tap back into the map app, and the loading circle chugs around and around as it struggles to place me—a wide blue dot in a sea of green, no roads or towns nearby, and circles, circles, circles. Just when I think it’s about to snap into place—

“All set.” Guy reappears, smiling.

I slip the phone back into my backpack as he returns from the kitchen. I don’t think he saw me. I was quick enough, thank God. My pulse hammers in my throat.

“You’ll have everything you need in there,” he goes on. “Fresh linens, bath supplies—help yourself to anything. I imagine you might want to get some rest, process things a bit. I perhaps came on a bit strong.” He looks at his hands sheepishly. “I should give you some space first.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” I mutter.

I wonder if I’ve been too sassy for him, but he just smiles. “You’re someone whose trust has to be earned. I can see that.” He nods back to the front hallway. “Up the stairs to the left, through the double doors. The entire wing is yours.”

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