Page 136 of Black Castle

Throughout the ride to the apartment, he never uttered anything to her. And when they arrived, he ignored all her questions as to why she was here in the middle of the night.

He had slipped into the shower as soon as they arrived, as if desperate to wash something away.

Here she still is, fifteen minutes later, questions unanswered.

The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows over the taut muscles of his arms, the inked lines of his tattoos gleaming like whispers of sin against his skin.

And for the past fifteen minutes, she has rehearsed exactly how she will handle this. She won’t waver. She won’t melt under his touch. She will demand answers, hold her ground, and maybe even get to walk away from him—this sham of a relationship for good.

But as he moves across the room, languid and predatory, that resolve splinters. She stares at him, unable to tear her gaze away. His hair is loose from the braids he always has one side in, damp curls framing his face and brushing against ice-laced lashes.

He is a vision—something unearthly, something darkly divine.

She swallows hard, trying but her gaze keeps betraying her. The way his waist dips and flexes with every step toward the table where a bottle of whiskey and a pack of Marlboro sits shouldn’t distract her. It shouldn’t distract her. But it does.

Lucan doesn’t smoke. He told her this himself. She thought that applied to Zev, too, as she has never seen him with a cigarette. But he picks the cigarette from the pack with the ease of habit, placing it between his lips before striking a flame to the end.

“It’s late,” she whispers, though she isn’t sure if she means to push him away or pull him closer.

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, voice a husky rasp, settling over her like a warm shroud.

From the edge of the bed, she grips the sheet, willing her body to obey her mind. But the way his voice rolls over her, the way it seeps into her skin, makes it impossible not to think of things—wicked, corrupt things. Things he can do to her.

He finally joins her, the bed dipping under his weight. He folds one leg on the mattress, the other planted on the floor. He is close. Too close. His bare chest brushes her arm and heat licks up her spine. Smoke and aftershave curls around her senses, blending with something faintly floral—his shampoo, maybe.

Her nipples harden beneath the silk top, and she doesn’t know if it’s the air conditioner or the simple, devastating presence of him.

“I have a lot planned for tonight,” he exhales, smoke curling in the air. He pushes his hair back, fingers threading through the damp curls. “Or rather, this morning. It’s like what? 3AM?”

“It’s late, Zev,” she whispers again, but the words crumble as his lips graze the shell of her ear, his breath hot, teasing.

“I know.”

Smoke spills from his lips, wrapping around her, choking her thoughts. She coughs, twisting away.

“Can you not?” She glares at him. “Secondary smoking is just as bad too. I’d prefer a cancer-free lung.”

He releases a breathy chuckle, but he doesn’t put the cigarette away, doesn’t even consider it.

“I couldn’t track your movement for hours,” he says, voice lower, edged with something unreadable.

His fingers ghost over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear before his lips graze her jaw. “Didn’t know where you were. If you were home.” A pause, a beat. “Or if you were with another man.”

His jaw flexes as if he can’t imagine the thought, his grip on her face tightening.

“Zev—”

“Why is the gift I gave you in another man’s house?” His voice turns sharp, the heat of his cigarette-tainted breath fanning over her skin.

“Are you serious?” Her irritation flares. “You put a tracker on me.” She wrenches her face free from his hold. “You have been watching me like a goddamn creep. Do you hear yourself? Does any of that sound normal to you?”

Unfazed, he exhales a slow stream of smoke, a smirk curving his lips. “You’re mine.”

“And you’re sick,” she spits. “Take me home.”

He watches her lazily through half-lidded eyes, cigarette returning to his lips as he takes another slow drag.

“Sit,” he commands.

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