Damn.
He tilted his head, lips pressed into a hard, flat line. “I’m going to chalk that up to one bad life choice fueled by fear and a little bit of stupidity, and logically reason that you’re—”
Spinning into him, I swung my arm out. He dipped to the left, causing my elbow to glance off his chest. Cursing under his breath, he shot toward me. Before I could even take a breath, he had both hands on my shoulders. My back hit the wall, and then he was there, his large body crowding mine in. Panic began to blossom, but I fought it down. I started to raise my leg, aiming for where it counted, but he pressed his hips in, trapping a large thigh between mine.
“Foolish. So very foolish,” he said. “Also kind of hot.”
Wait. What?
“But that’s neither here nor there.” He wrapped his hand around my chin, forcing my head back against the wall. His gaze snagged mine. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know how easy it would be for me to kill you? Do you?”
Heart thundering in my chest, I kept my mouth shut as I glared back at him.
“Do you?” he repeated, his eyes churning with anger and… and something… something else. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” I spat out.
“And you still tried to attack me?” His thumb sliced over my chin. “When I made no move to harm you.”
I wouldn’t exactly say he made no move. He had grabbed me. That I didn’t appreciate.
“I think I can guess what happened to Tobias.”
My jaw ached from how tight I was clamping it shut.
Fury poured off him, but when those heavy lashes lowered, I swore his gaze had zeroed in on my mouth. He cursed again, and then suddenly released me. I wasn’t expecting him to do it. Off balance, I stumbled forward. He caught my arm, straightening me, and then dropped his hold as if my skin burned him.
“Go,” he growled out. “Go before I do something we both will end up regretting.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
Backing away from the Prince, I spun on the sharp heel of my boot and then I ran.
Chapter 5
The beautiful antebellum style home I grew up in sat nestled in the middle of the Garden District. With its wraparound porch, second-floor balcony, and the courtyard Mom and I had spent many sunny afternoons in, it was one of the houses that was an utter blast from the past—with the exception of the kitchen and bathrooms that had been renovated about five years ago.
There were days when I thought about selling it and moving on to anywhere but here even though I had been born in this home and New Orleans was a part of my blood just as much as the Order was. If I did decide to sell, I knew this home wouldn’t last a second on the market, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of it. At least not yet, when I could still recall all those good memories.
But on nights like tonight, when I was rattled and exhausted as I unlocked the door my mom had decided to paint blue, I was swamped with the bad memories.
The attack had happened less than two blocks from here. We’d been so close to making it back, and I had to think that would’ve made a difference. Tink had been here.
Then again, if I hadn’t panicked and had fought back instead of flailing like a pinned insect, that could’ve also made a difference.
Swallowing down the bitter ball of emotion, I opened the door and stepped inside, locking it behind me. A lamp on the entryway table was on, casting a soft glow to the formal sitting room to the right—a room that legit was never used, and a cherry oak library to the left. I could hear some sort of conversation coming from the living area at the back of the house, on the other side of the kitchen.
I dropped the keys on the table and strode past the staircase, the heels of what I liked to refer to as my stripper boots clacking off the wood floors as I entered the dining room, another place in the house that saw little use. The kitchen was quiet, the under cabinet lights on, shining down on the gray and white quartz countertops.
Stepping under a rounded archway, I took in the living area at the back of the house. One entire wall was nothing but windows that overlooked the porch and courtyard. The blinds were drawn and the heavy, ceramic lamp was lit. On the screen, my favorite Stranger Things kid Dustin was currently trying to lure a baby demogorgon into the basement. There was an enormous bowl of Lucky Charms on the round coffee table. I knew this because the empty box was sitting next to the bowl. No milk. And it looked like all the colorful marshmallows had been picked out of the cereal.
Again.
I sighed as I counted the cans of open soda. Four. How anything could consume that much sugar and not slip into a diabetic coma, I had no idea.
Twisting at the waist, I scanned the normal hiding places. Behind pillows. Under the coffee table. Waiting behind the end tables. The room was empty.
Picking up the remote, I turned the television off and then I grabbed the bowl of cereal. I brought it back to the kitchen and placed it on the counter before returning to grab the empty soda cans. I tossed them into the recycling bin, all the while not thinking about what I’d done tonight or the Prince or how sore my throat was. Once I was done cleaning up, I went through the narrow hall that was lined with framed photographs of Mom and me, and older ones of my father. Back to the foyer, I double-checked the locked door.
Couldn’t be too safe.
As I wearily climbed the stairs, I spotted a tiny shoe no bigger than half my pinky sitting between two wooden spindles on the steps. Stopping, I looked for the other shoe, but didn’t see it and decided to leave that shoe on the step, because I figured it was there for a reason.
The upstairs hallway light was already on, so I turned it off as I reached the end of the hall and then closed the bedroom door behind me.
Feeling several years older than my age, I crossed the quiet room and walked into what used to be a small nursery, but had been converted into a walk-in closet ages ago.
Then I started my routine of becoming me again—becoming Brighton Jussier.
I bent down and got to unzipping the boots. Kicking them off, I reached up and moved my fingers through the hair, finding the extra bobby pins I used as an extra precaution. I plucked them out, dropping them in a glass tray sitting on the waist-high table in the center. Slipping the wig off, I placed it on the plastic mannequin-head stand and then peeled off the cap that helped keep my hair flat. I had no idea how to braid, so I worked with a low bun. After another half a dozen pins joined the rest in the tray, my hair was free, falling past my shoulders. A rush of blood hit my scalp and I closed my eyes, enjoying the tingles.
Lifting my hands, I looked up as I pinched my fingers, removing the contacts that had changed my eyes to blue. I placed them in their container.
The dress came off next, going straight into the trash. I never wore them twice. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, because even though this one was sparkly and sexy, it would forever make me think of Tobias and his icy touch. It would always remind me of the first time I saw him and why I had hunted him down.
Undressed, I tugged on the fluffy robe and then padded barefoot back across the room to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower, letting the steam begin to fill the space. It took two towelettes to remove all the makeup on my face, but after a handful of moments, it was my face staring back at me in the mirror.
Blonde hair fell limply around cheeks that were pink from all the scrubbing. Faint shadows clung to the skin under eyes that reminded me of my mother. They were wide-set and brown. Someone once called them doe eyes, and I think they might’ve been suggesting that my eyes gave them the impression of a deer in headlights. Right now, that would be accurate. I stared at myself like I didn’t recognize anything about my own face. My gaze lowered, to where my lips were slightly parted and then lower still.