Page 87 of Gravehouse

Fingers braid with mine, and he pulls me back down beside him. He places a finger under my chin, looking between my lips and eyes.

“I won’t touch her again,” he says, and I go to turn away but his hold on my chin tightens, keeping me in place. “I won’t touch her again.”

An ache spreads through my body. Everything fucking hurts. “I hate you.”

His jaw flexes. “No, you don’t. And you hate that, because you know people are going to get hurt.”

Frustration wraps its ugly noose around my neck and I let out an exasperated growl. “So let them!” I feel zero guilt over how much I’ve risked just to finally have him for myself.

His expression hardens, splitting the conversation in half.

“You, Ivanya. You are the one who will get hurt.” A dark, sarcastic laugh slips from him. “Fuck, you really think I care about anyone else but you? If it weren’t your life on the line, I’d risk it. But I willnotfucking risk you.”

Silence.

I try to absorb the words I didn’t know I craved, fall short, and sigh. “Asher, I kill people for a living. I’ve lived in danger all my life. You can’t protect me.”

This time, his chuckle stays in his chest. “I can and I will.”

I let him think what he needs because none of it matters.

Rolling onto my stomach, I rest my chin on his chest and trace his tattoos. “I’ve always thought this one reminded me of poison ivy.”

There’s no way. Asher had this tattoo way before I met him.

“Mmm…” he muses, the corner of his lip twitching. “isn’t that… strange.”

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

ASHER

My phone vibratesagainst the counter, and I already know who it is, so I snatch it up and head for the balcony. Cold air hits my bare chest as I lean on the railing, watching the ocean throw itself at the cliff below, relentless and too fucking dumb to quit.

Bit like me with Ivy.

“Your connection with Ivanya is becoming problematic,” they say, with a bit too much confidence.

Foam hisses across the rocks as a wave breaks apart.

“Not your concern.”

They’re weighing their next words, trying to soften whatever comes out as if it’s gonna make a difference. Spoiler, it won’t, but I’ll let them think it can because I’m generous. Or bored.

They speak again, voice dropping into that careful, measured tone. “I know it isn’t my concern.”

My jaw locks. “Exactly. So why the fuck are you calling?”

The line goes quiet before they finally answer. “Because I am requesting a timeline.”

“You can request whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean you get it.”

Static crackles through the speaker. “Are you getting attached to the girl.”

My lip twitches. “Smoke and mirrors.”

Nothing. They hate it when I talk back. They all fucking did, which is exactly why I love it so much.