Page 114 of A House of Gold
The door is locked. Gold, like everything else in this house, with intricate swirls carved into its surface. I knock anyway.
"Go away, Raven."
His voice is muffled through the thick metal, but I hear the edge in it. The warning.
"No."
Silence. And finally, "I'm not in the mood for company."
"Too bad. We need to talk."
"There's nothing to discuss."
I try the handle. Still locked. "Open the door, Croesus."
"No."
Fine. If he wants to be childish about this, I can be childish too.
I kick the door. Hard. The impact sends pain shooting through my foot, the door is solid gold, reinforced with magic, but I don't care.
"Open. The. Door."
Another kick. Another spike of pain.
"Raven..." There’s an edge of warning in his tone.
"You don't get to do this!" I kick again. "You don't get to drag me into your life, bind me to your house, make me feel everything you feel, and then shut me out when you're having feelings you don't like!"
Kick.
"You don't get to be jealous of Ash and then pretend you're not!"
Kick.
"You don't get to fall for me and then hide from it!"Shit. Did I just say that out loud?
The door swings open.
Croesus is standing there, gold eyes blazing, jaw tight with anger. "What did you say?"
"You heard me." I push past him into the study. It's smaller than his office, lined with shelves holding ancient artifacts and books bound in leather. Golden walls catch the firelight, making the whole room glow. There's a desk, also gold, covered in papers, and a fireplace burning low. "You fell for me. You're sulking because you hate that you feel this way."
"I'm not sulking. I do not sulk."
"You've been avoiding me for three weeks almost!"
"Because I needed space!" He slams the door behind him, and the sound echoes like a gunshot. "Because every time I see you, I smell him on you. Cigarettes and cheap cologne. The demon blood who's fucked you, who's touched you, who has a claim on you that I can't erase." I hear what he doesn’t say.A claim I can’t match.
"He doesn't have a claim on me."
"He does!" Croesus moves toward me, and there's something dangerous in his movement. Predatory. "He's in your head. Your history. Your body. And I can't stand it. Can't stand the thought of anyone else having touched you, tasted you, made you scream their name."
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair!" He's close now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. "I'm the angel of greed. I've spent three thousand years acquiring everything I want. But you..." His hands clench into fists. "You, I can't have. Not really. Not the way I want. Because in ten months you'll leave, and another angel will have you, and I'll have to feel you through the binding while someone else claims what's mine."
"I'm not yours." And that is a whole lot of assumptions in one sentence.
