Page 22 of Bound
It gives another small buzz. I peer once at the text message on the screen and start for the door without another word.
My hand closes over the knob.
“Captain Whitehorn? Is all well?”
I turn to find Amoret’s friend, Wena, nearby.
Her rich skin is like the smooth tawny flank of a lioness in her spider silk gown of dusky red. The color is uncommon outside of the Unseelie Court overseas, but it suits her.
“I need to go,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “But—”
“Lady Amoret rests for the time being.” Wena clamps her lips closed, her hands just as tight before her. Like she wants to argue, but won’t. “Do not disturb her unless it is absolutely necessary.”
She gives me a small nod.
“The local police have stationed men in the building and one of my team will be here until I return,” I add. “Lady Amoret will be safe with him.”
Not with me.
The words reverberate inside my skull, but I can’t silence them.
Just as I cannot stop the desire roaring through me. The need to go back up the stairs and wake Amoret with my touch on her pure skin. I want the lost look gone from her face, and I want pleasure to replace it more than I want my next fucking breath of air.
My teeth grind, and I wrench the door open onto an empty hall. “Do not let anyone else inside the suite, Wena,” I snarl, glancing sideways at her, “or it will be you I come to find.”
Her tan skin blanches, but she drops into a deep curtsy. “Of course, Captain.”
I stalk out of the room and shut the door. The audible click of the repaired lock reaches my ears, and I storm to the elevator.
The gilded cage is all metal around me, and my thunderous reflection stares back.
The emerald cast to my eyes swirl; the colors weave in and out until they seem alive, like wyverns of old. A faint light shimmers under my skin, leaving me burning from within. Except for the dull, dark lines of my tattoos. The ones laced with whitecassianroot to dampen my fire.
Only my fire is no longer tame.
It simmers just beneath the surface of my skin, begging me to call it. To summon the deadly heat. To raze down every threat to Amoret until they are naught but smoldering ash and ruin.
Turning my head away, I press the button for the bottom floor and wait for the fucking doors to close.
The glowing neons above the club door pulse in a crude depiction of a third eye, and the word Oracle blazons down at me as I slip under the doorway into the dimness.
Mirrors line the walls behind recurved booths in aquamarine leather. Each rounded cubby sports curtains in a thick, horrid purple fabric and slim poles that are flaking silver paint under the house lights.
All the shit that seems beautiful in the dark normally isn’t in the light of day.
Ruin looks up from his place with a seeding male sporting a greasy, black hairline that is more like a divider to his pasty skull than any real attempt at fashion. Or hair.
Ruin’s dark eyes flash gold before he holds up a finger to the male and walks over. His lips peel back. “You had your orders, Gage.”
I just look at him. “I’ve been in charge for weeks, Ruin, so fuck off. The change is hard to grasp.” The words drip with my anger and a bucket-fucking-full of sarcasm.
His teeth flash. “T give you the address?”
“Nah. Googled it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m guessing Horan replaced you?” I nod. Some of his tension eases. “Well, if you’re fucking here, you might as well scan the area.”
