I ignore his question. “So, now that you’ve talked in my presence and saved my life, how about those questions? How old are you? Do you work for Elias or with him? Are you a dealer of secrets too?”

  The infuriating man remains silent. He twitches his nose and leans against the brick wall, trying to disappear into it, but that’s impossible. He radiates danger, standing out like a shark in a school of clownfish.

  I tap my foot.

  Ren

  Not going in?

  He rolls his eyes.

  I mirror his pose and blink at him. Too bad for him, I have all the time in the world.

  He sighs, fingers flying over his phone screen.

  Ren

  I don’t like to talk. People talk too much. Silence tells you more.

  Seeing I haven’t moved, he sends another text.

  Ren

  I have a last name, but that’s none of your business. The mask protects us both. And I work with Elias, not for him. Understood, Your Majesty?

  I snort. “Your Majesty should be reserved for the Shadow King himself. I’m just his lowly prisoner.”

  Before he responds, I rise on my tiptoes and brush a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Ren.”

  The grumpy man freezes, his eyes widening as I sweep past him and enter the café.

  Immediately, I feel at home.

  Warmth and spice welcome me like a hug.

  Sage-green walls adorned with twinkling Christmas lights and worn wooden counters make this place seem like a cozy countryside escape.

  But then, I see its quirks—brass jars lining multiple shelves, vintage teacups and pots, sunken seating areas with mismatched furniture, multi-color cushions that look like a unicorn crossed with a seventies hippie threw up and this decor is the result. Bookshelves stretch floor to ceiling, filled with novels and knickknacks.

  Then there are the flowers, the glorious flowers. Lush purple wisteria drips from the ceiling, orange roses climb lattices, and ivy curls along the walls. I don’t even know how they keep them alive in the middle of winter.

  I breathe in the nutty scent of coffee and spice mixing with the sweetness of the bouquets.

  A memory stirs.

  “So you’re an Anderson—you can have anything. What do you want that you don’t already have? Have you decided on a dream?” Kian asks.

  We’re in his backyard, my feet resting against the beat-up tire we used as a chair. Sofia chats with a friend, laughing in the background. His mom, a petite woman, watches me with narrowed eyes and a tight smile.

  “Well,” I say, “I don’t really care about the money. I guess I want what my parents had. Love. People say it killed her, but from her journal entries, she was happy. I’d risk it all for a love like that too.”

  He’s contemplative. “What about something tangible?”

  Inhaling the sweet air, I climb onto a makeshift swing, kick out my legs, and feel the breeze flutter my hair.

  “Other than that music box, which I’m not getting until my birthday because I want the anticipation…I suppose I want a place of my own. Something I can decorate.”

  His heat brushes against my back as he pushes me. Higher and higher. I soar through the air like the ravens flying overhead.

  “I want a gorgeous library with walls of books. One of those beautiful antique desks with cherubs on the legs. A music room. And…” I stop, excitement bubbling, and leap off the swing.

  Kian’s already there, like he’s predicted my next move.

  He catches me easily.

  “What?” He grazes my cheek with his finger. I shiver.

  “An indoor garden,” I say. “Like a greenhouse filled with roses, more books, a comfortable chair, the best hot chocolate, and big windows I can watch the stars from.”

  “That’s…very specific.” A smirk tugs at his lips.

  “What can I say? I have standards.”

  “And yet you chose me.”

  “And yet I chose you,” I whisper.

  The hiss of the espresso machine drags me back to the present.

  A redhead reminding me of a certain fairytale mermaid frowns behind the counter.

  She mutters something to the machine. Then she scowls.

  “Just whack it,” I call out, grinning. “Hit it like you hate it.”

  Amusement glints in her green eyes. “You break it, you buy it.”

  “But you’re the one hitting it.”

  I sit at the counter and glance at the chalkboard behind her—the drink offerings.

  The Velvet Hex. The Obsidian Heart. The Alchemist Kiss. Moonpetal Elixir.

  What the heck?

  Whack.

  The coffee machine splutters and purrs, and soon the scent of freshly ground espresso fills the air.

  “Damn. It works.”

  “Told you. Works with everything.” I may have whacked one of Maxwell’s race cars a few years ago when it wouldn’t unlock. I could’ve sworn I was a dead woman.

  But then it worked. Ha!

  “So, what can I get you? First time here?” The redhead grins as she ties on a green apron.

  “Just moved here, actually.” I look around, taking in the people quietly chatting, a brunette with ivory skin in a turtleneck stocking books on shelves, and the rows of spice jars—willow bark, lemon balm, calendula, echinacea, among other things. “What is this place? Bookstore and coffee shop mixed with Practical Magic?”

  She grins. “Exactly. It’s one of a kind. Aria,” she points to the brunette, “and I came up with it. We wanted our favorite things in one place. I’m Scarlett.” She sticks out her hand.

  I shake it and smile. It feels good—chatting with regular people, getting a drink at a new café. Normal life things.

  Brow arched, I motion to her hair. “Scarlett…with red hair.”

  She mock groans and sighs. “I was named after Scarlett O’Hara from Gone with the Wind. My parents didn’t think things through.”

  Scarlett tells me she and Aria met in the University of Chicago’s nursing program. Aria graduated and is now a nurse at Chicago Memorial. Scarlett took her family’s investment and opened this shop instead. She wanted to use her herbology obsession to make weirdly perfect drinks and build a place where people want to linger and read. Aria hangs out here on her days off.

  “Special perennial plants. Experimental strains.” She motions to the flowers.

  “And trust me, my drinks are magic. Head cold? Bad luck in the love department?” She leans in and points to the jars behind her. “I’ve got you covered.”

  “And some awesome books to read while you’re at it.” Aria drifts over and sits next to me.

  She gives me an impish smile. “I saw you before with that scary dude outside. What are you? Part of the mafia? They are around here, you know.”

  I swallow, my mind flashing to The Association, and that pause has her eyes widening.

  “No way! Not judging though.”

  “All are welcome here,” Scarlett comments. “We have a mix of folks from different ‘backgrounds’ in Saints Hollow. This is a safe haven.”

  “It’s not really like that.” Heat crawls up my neck. There go my plans of making new friends. “Ren looks scary, but—”

  “Hot. Killer vibes. Model body, though. Dude, see those shoulders. And that mask. I’m a sucker for men in masks.” Aria grins.

  “Don’t let Blake hear that. You’re engaged, missy,” Scarlett teases.

  Aria flushes and explains, “Blake’s a surgeon at the hospital, and he—”

  “Is not a killer but does wear a mask.” Scarlett snickers. “A surgical mask, so it’s different.”

  “Heeey. Surgical masks are…hot.”

  “If you say so.”

  Aria eyes Ren again. “Why doesn’t he come in? It’s freezing outside.”

  “Genetically modified, maybe. A super soldier. He looks tense. I think he needs chamomile and ashwagandha in his coffee,” Scarlett muses.

  The girls banter, and I blink.

  Aria leans in and whispers, “Every book has a good story. Even the scary ones. I love the scary ones.”

  “But she picked a golden retriever, make that make sense,” Scarlett stage whispers. “Honestly, I think she’s seen too much shit at the ER and it’s messed with her common sense.”

  Something inside me loosens—an ache that’s taken residence under my ribs since the wedding. For a moment, I feel like my old self again.

  The two girls chat about hospital gossip. Aria talks about the new research wing under construction. I bite back a smile, not mentioning my family’s donation is paying for it. Instead, I make a mental note to email Chicago Memorial’s PR department and connect them with my replacement at Fleur for their joint media tour.

  “I’m homesick,” I begin, and they swivel their heads toward me. “Any cures?”

  Scarlett winks, her bangles jangling on her wrist. “I’ve got just the drink for you.”

  “Welcome to your home away from home.” Aria runs to the shelves and returns with a book.

  Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.

  “Matching me with heartbreak?” I say wryly. My mind flashes to a man with dark hair and a dangerous scar, who clutches me against him like he never wants to let go.

  Aria smiles. “No. More like obsession and eternal love. And gothic, spooky atmospheres. Something you can sink your teeth into.”

  An old ache flares. The images merge inside my mind—warm green eyes morphing into cutting emeralds, lost promises and words carved on a tree.

  “Hey! We’re going to a new club in two weeks. It’s so hard to get in. You should come with. You can meet Blake!” Aria exclaims.

  I stare at the friendly faces and shove my melancholy away.

  New friends in a new place. Action, not reaction.

  “Sure.” I grin. Maybe a night out will turn things around. And if my overbearing husband has an issue with it, that’s his problem, not mine.

  The girls squeal, and I glance outside.

  A dark sedan with tinted windows idles at the curb across the street, exhaust puffing out in dark plumes. Hair rises on my forearms. Ren stands sentry, his hand clutching his phone, his jaw clenched, brows pinched.

  Like he’s worried.

  Chapter 26: PRISON BREAK

  My happiness dims the moment I return to the house.

  Elias leans against the foyer wall, which is strange to begin with. The man usually barricades himself inside his office.

  Is he waiting for me?

  My heart trembles like it’s excited.

  You’re nuts, Lana. Nothing good can come from the Shadow King waiting for you. We are not excited about him. At all.

  He hums under his breath, one hand holding a crimson book, the other playing with his damn lighter again. He stills, appearing to be completely engrossed in his reading.

  The man isn’t a fast reader, judging by how quickly he turns the pages. His finger trails over the paper. He studies the text like he’s trying to memorize it. Or peel apart the words and find the hidden meaning underneath.

  Who knows? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s probably memorizing for fun, the unhinged monster.

  Click. Click. Click.

  A muscle twitches in his cheek—a ghost of a smile. What is he reading?

  I hate how the afternoon light drapes over his towering frame, how put together he is in his crisp white shirt, perfectly fitted double-breasted vest—a stunning forest green color this time—and gray dress pants.

  “Careful there. All that ogling and I might think you’re in love with me,” he says, his obsidian hair glinting under the pendant light. He snaps his book shut.

  “Stop copying me.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” He smirks.

  “I said that in the library…and yes, I still remember my temporary lapse of judgment.” My face warms. “You don’t have to worry. You’re the last person I’ll ever fall in love with.”

  He stares at his lighter for a beat, slowly sliding it into his pocket.

  When he looks up, those green eyes are cold as ice.

  “Had a fun outing?” he asks.

  “Why does it matter to you? You’re my husband in name only.”

  His voice drops. “Do you want it not to be in name only?”

  He steps closer, each step shrinking the room. A current runs through my body.

  Fight or flight.

  “Is that what you want, Lana?”

  He closes the distance. Space ceases to exist.

  “N-No.” I back up until I hit the door. “You’re ridiculous.”

  Slowly, Elias brings his hands up, caging me in. My breath stutters as I look up at him.

  “I seem to recall someone being enthusiastic that night in the library. Or in the kitchen. Or in my office. Moving on my cock like you were desperate.” Body slowly pressing against mine, just a graze, a taunt, he murmurs, “Three times, Lana. Is that it? Is my wife lonely and horny? Am I not doing my husbandly duties?”

  Heat flares through me at his words and the dark promise in his eyes.

  My mouth dries. I wet my lips, and his gaze drops to the movement. A rough sound rumbles in his throat.

  An ache flares between my legs.

  What’s wrong with me? He’s the enemy.

  A shadow encroaches on his irises like mist rolling in on a winter night.

  Every part of him stills.

  A predator lying in wait.

  My hands move before my mind registers. I touch him—graze the silk emerald tie under his vest, feeling the sturdy muscles rippling underneath his shirt.

  “That’s it, wife,” he rasps, leaning down, his lips hovering an inch from mine. “Pupils dilated. Pulse beating madly in your throat. The flush…beautiful pink flush. You want me, the man you hate, don’t you? Is this what you dream about late at night, your body hot, aching, your soft skin rubbing against the sheets?”

  A moan perches on the tip of my tongue. I’m hot. Burning.

  I dig my body into the wall, fighting my basest impulse to arch up, to sample those perfectly curved lips.

  To bury myself in his darkness.

  The thought snaps me, just barely, out of his spell.

  “You wish, asshole! You have no place in my dreams.”

  He releases me with a low chuckle. “Dreams. Nightmares are probably more apt.”

  His eyes dim—sadness, but that can’t be right. He strides toward his office. I follow, my control clearly nonexistent.

  “Why are you talking to me suddenly? Were you waiting for me?”

  He looks over his shoulder. “I’m leaving next week. Ren also has things to take care of. You are not to leave this house in my absence.”

  “No way. I’m not doing this again. It’s bad enough I’m married to you. I won’t be chained here like I’m in jail.”

  “You’ll do as I say. For your own good.” He stalks off.

  My jaw drops. Oh no, you don’t. I chase after him, but his strides are too quick. He slams the office door in my face.

  I bang on it with my fist.

  “Elias Kent, you open the door this instant! You need to get something straight. We’re in this arrangement because you and your cronies need something from me. I’m doing you all a favor. Not the other way around.”

  He doesn’t answer. I only hear that aggravating lighter. Click, click, click.

  It’s been six days since he disappeared to God-knows-where.

  Six days of pacing this mausoleum of a mansion, going through each unlocked room like a bored ghost. Six days of trying new lock-breaking exercises to break into the impenetrable room on the third floor. Six days of Hannah trying to convince me Elias is a good man because he took her in ten years ago as she was about to be evicted from her apartment with two young grandkids to feed. Her daughter died in a car accident, and the deadbeat father was nowhere to be seen.

  I have to admit, the thought of Elias helping sweet Hannah out brings a smile to my face.

  But then I remember he’s Elias Kent.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if he singled her out because of her superior cooking skills.

  Scrunching my nose, I peek through the curtains of my bedroom and spot the black sedan in its usual spot across the street. Snowflakes fall from the sky.

  The government car.

  For the past six days, that sedan has been parked out there every single day. Exhaust puffs into the air. A shadow of someone sits inside.

  It’s strange.

  This morning I texted Emerson a photo of the car and its plate.

  He replied, These are government plates. Different from the car that followed you in New York City. Do you need me to look further?

  I told him no. But the message lingers.

  Are they tailing me, or following Ren? Why would the government follow me? Who was following me in New York?

  I think back to my brush with death outside the café. Ren’s worried face when he spotted the car.

  Chewing my lip, I eye the stack of romances on my nightstand. I can spend my time with hot dudes with chiseled chests who can growl like nobody’s business, or I can act on the madcap idea I came up with two days ago when I saw the mysterious car yet again.

  The house is quiet. Really quiet. Not the watchful silence of my imprisonment, with the prickly sensation of someone—the cameras or Hannah—watching my every move.

  Elias is coming back tomorrow. Ren has disappeared, and Hannah, last I checked, has Sinatra crooning from her phone while she prepares a feast for tonight.

  This is my chance to get answers.

  It’s a huge risk to do what I’m about to do. If The Association finds out, they’ll kill me or my family.

  But I’ve never been the passive type. I can’t wait for someone to rescue me.

  And with the opportunity in my face, I have to trust my gut.

  My gaze darts to the camera closest to me. No blinking red light.

  My asshole husband probably thinks I’ve given up searching for answers. Maybe he thinks I’m too chicken to do more.

  A slow smile tugs at my lips.

  Oops, Shadow King.

  Seems you’ve underestimated your good little wife.