Page 59 of One Shattered Crown
He doesn’t give me time to stare and just heads down a hall, boots echoing on the boards, to shove open a set of double doors.
The bedroom is more country than city. A heavy quilt in red and cream spreads over a large bed surrounded by oak furniture built to last. But it’s the stones that stick out. Obsidian chunks sit in a bowl on the dresser, along with polished pieces gleaming on the shelves, as well as sparkling garnets set into the base of lamps. Little shadows and sparkles in an otherwise cozy room. A reminder this is his space. Not soft. Not safe.
He dumps the many bags on the bed and looks back at me. “Take a shower. Pick something to wear. I’ll put the groceries away.”
The words are simple, but they hit with weight. Justice in a kitchen isn’t domestic—it’s deliberate. Another move in a game I don’t know the rules of. He doesn’t have to feed me. He doesn’t have to soften the edges. So why does he? To get under my guard? To remind me he can be both the hand that starves and the hand that gives?
“Tomorrow,” he adds, “I’ll take you to the computer hub in the basement.”
I perk up. “You have a computer hub?”
“Of course I have a computer hub.” His voice is even, brooding rather than amused, the weight of it settling heavy in the room. “We’ll see what we can find out about the illness.” He pauses, his gaze flicking to the garnet bookends on the shelf, then to a chunk of obsidian catching the weak afternoon light. Shadows carve harsh lines across his face when he turns back to me. “I’ll help you take down TimeGem Moments in exchange.”
I take a step back, pulse leaping. Him actually helpingme could get this thing done. It’s too big, too dangerous, too … real. “They’ll come after us,” I say.
“I’m planning on it.” His answer is simple, ironclad.
A bark sounds from outside, sharp and happy. Justice exhales, almost a growl, and rakes a hand down his jaw before he says, “I’ll let your dog in. Then we’ll meet in the kitchen.”
Anticipation lights through me, sparking quick and bright like electricity. If he really helps me, this could work. But the stones glimmer dark in the corners of the room, garnets glowing faintly, obsidian swallowing light, and I can’t shake the sense that they’re watching, listening. Like him.
My stomach twists, heavy and cold. What happens when we succeed? What happens if we fail? Even if I find a way to help him, what does he plan to do with me afterward? “I’d like an agreement in writing.”
He snorts. “No.”
All right, I’m definitely going to escape. Sure, there are guards out there, but I didn’t see a moat like at Thorn’s place. No monsters circling in black water, no castle walls. Just trees, ocean, and a road I can vanish down if I get the chance.
As if catching my thoughts, Justice moves. One step, maybe two, but it feels like the air shifts with him. Suddenly he’s there, right in front of me, close enough the heat rolling off his body skims my skin. My back straightens on instinct.
His eyes pin me. They’re dark, unreadable, and the kind that don’t just look at you but cut through skin and bone to something deeper. They drag across me, slow and sure, and my pulse stutters like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
Heat filters along my every nerve ending. I swallow, my throat dry. “Um.”
Justice doesn’t bother to answer. Instead, he lifts a hand, deliberate, his knuckles brushing against my temple before sliding into my hair. His fingers are warm, rough, threaded with strength I can feel in every careful stroke. He pushes a stray curl behind my ear, then lets his hand linger at the side of my face.
My body betrays me. A shiver ripples down my spine, every muscle tightening. The brush of his thumb near my cheekbone sends sparks low in my belly. I should move. I should push him away. Instead I’m rooted to the spot, my chest rising fast, heat pooling where I don’t want it.
He leans closer, not touching but filling my space until I can’t breathe without drawing him in. His voice is a rasp, low and rough. “Planning something?”
My heart slams against my ribs. He knows. Of course he knows.
I shift my weight, but his hand slides, slow and possessive, down the side of my neck. The pressure is light, almost tender, but there’s nothing gentle in the way he does it. It’s control. A warning. A reminder that escape won’t be easy.
I shudder, and his dark eyes narrow, catching it. Not missing a single reaction.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. “Afraid of me?”
Yes. No. Both. My body hums with it, fear and want tangled too tight to separate. “I need to take a shower.” My voice shakes.
His phone buzzes. Saving me? He releases me and tugs it from his back pocket to read. “I have a meeting soonthat’ll go late, but have time for an early dinner first. Be in the kitchen in fifteen minutes, or I’m coming for you. Shower or not.”
I stand there. “Um, okay.” We’re playing house now?
“You can write out the code for the virus while I’m gone. I want to have it. Maybe I can take it and find a cure for myself.”
There’s no cure just in the code. It’s about energy. At least it was with Thorn. “You’ll use the virus to harm the other social media companies.” He won’t be able to help himself.
“It’s up to me how to use it.” He turns and walks out of the room.
