Page 113 of A House of Gold
Croesus stops walking. Turns to face me. Through the binding, I feel him wrestling with something, the urge to comfort me warring with the jealousy still burning in his chest.
"He cares for you," Croesus says finally. "The demon."
"His name is Ash."
"I don't care what his name is." Croesus's voice is cold.
"He's my friend."
"I don't share." The words come out sharp, possessive.
"That's not fair. There’s nothing there. There never was."
"Fair?" He laughs, harsh and bitter. "Nothing about this is fair. Life isn’t fucking fair. I thought you knew that already.”
We stare at each other a moment. And I can feel him building walls between us, pushing me away over this, over nothing.
"It doesn't matter," he says finally. "You're still leaving. Still going to the other houses. Still going to let them..." He stops. Shakes his head. "This conversation is over."
He turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the corridor alone.
Through the binding, I feel him, fury and jealousy and something that might be heartbreak, all tangled together in a knot I can't unravel. And I realize with sinking certainty that Ash was right. I am changing. Falling for the angel who owns my service. Forgetting why I wanted to leave in the first place.
And I have no idea how to stop it.
Or if I even want to.
I head back to my room, exhaustion settling into my bones. The binding pulls at me, a constant awareness of Croesus somewhere else in the House. Angry. Hurt. Possessive.
Mine,it whispers.You're mine.
And the terrifying part is that some part of me, some growing, treacherous part, wants to be.
I close my door and lean against it, pressing my hand to my chest where I can feel the golden thread connecting me to him.
Ten months left. Ten months before I move to the next house, the next angel, the next binding.
But right now, all I can think about is how much it's going to hurt when I have to leave this one.
25
Croesus avoids me for two weeks.
Not physically, the house isn't big enough for that, and the binding makes it impossible to truly escape each other's presence. But he doesn't seek me out. Doesn't summon me for assignments. Doesn't appear at mealtimes or in the library or anywhere I might reasonably expect to find him.
Through the binding, I feel him, a constant, cold presence somewhere else in the house. Angry. Hurt. Working through something he doesn't want me to see.
It pisses me off.
I'm not sure why his withdrawal bothers me so much. I should be relieved. Should welcome the space, the reprieve from his intensity and possession and that golden gaze that sees too much even though he's blind.
But instead, I'm furious.
Because I can feel what he's feeling through the binding, jealousy and hurt and possessiveness all tangled together, and he won't even face me. Won't talk to me. Just broods somewhere in his golden fortress like a sulking child.
On the start of a third week, I've had enough.
I track him through the binding, following that thread of gold until it leads me to his private study, not the formal office where he conducts business, but a smaller room where he goes when he wants to be alone.
