Page 220 of Problematic

My tail had wrapped around my thigh beneath my torn dress and refused to release its grip, apparently having decided that self-strangulation counted as emotional support. Blood had dried along my knees, arms, and chest, some of it mine and some . . . not. Flower petals clung to my hair. It was safe to say that I was a hot mess. Which, let’s be honest, is pretty normal for me. But this? This felt so much worse.

Lux crossed the penthouse without turning on the lights. His shirt hung open where the fabric had torn, exposing silver burns around his throat and bruises spreading over his ribs. He moved with the stiff control of a man holding his body together through sheer spite alone.

He reached the windows and stopped.

His reflection floated over the black glass, hair darkened with dried blood and shoulders held stiff to stay upright. His hands hung uselessly at his sides. Lux always did something with them when he was angry. Folded them behind his back. Reached for a weapon. Touched me when I let him.

Right now, lifting them seemed to cost too much.

“You should sit down,” I said.

“So should you.” His voice held no bite or command. Only exhaustion layered over regret.

I crossed the room, every step reminding me where a guard had kicked me, grabbed me, or introduced some part of my body to stone. My palms hurt where the ward stone had used me like its personal portable battery. My shoes had disappeared somewhere between the strategy room and the penthouse. The marble floor chilled my bare, aching feet.

Lux reached for a bottle of water on the counter, missed it by an inch, and closed his hand around empty air.

Lux stared at his hand like it had personally betrayed him. A muscle jumped near his jaw before he reached again, slower this time, and wrapped his fingers around the bottle.

“Lux.”

“I have it.” He twisted the cap with unnecessary violence.

“You missed it.”

His eyes narrowed at the bottle. “It moved.”

I glanced at the completely stationary counter. “Of course. Sneaky little bastard.”

Lux drank half the bottle without breathing. Water ran over the corner of his mouth, down his throat, and across the raw silver burns, and his face tightened with pain.

I took the bottle from him, and he let me. Which said a lot about his condition, because that was something he would have fought me over yesterday.

“Sit,” I said.

His eyes lifted to mine, and I waited for the argument. Instead, he walked to the couch. Lux lowered himself onto the leather cushion, elbows resting against his thighs. His hands hung between his knees. I took a clean cloth from the bathroom and returned with a bowl of warm water. His gaze followed me the entire time. Tired but refusing to let it show.

“You know,” I said as I sat beside him, “most men take women to dinner before making them wash blood off their face.”

“You stabbed a guard during our first proper date.”

“I missed.”

“Your tail handled it.”

“My tail is an independent contractor. I accept no responsibility for her behavior.”

The corner of his mouth moved, though his expression died before becoming a full smile.

I dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out. When I raised my hand toward his face, he froze. “Do you want me to?” I asked.

His eyes searched mine, and he nodded silently. I pressed the cloth beneath his temple and wiped away dried blood and he closed his eyes. The exhaustion showed once he stopped guarding it. His shoulders sank, his breathing slowed, and the muscles in his body relaxed a fraction. I swear he could fall asleep right now if I let him.

He had spent the night chained in silver, tortured, stripped of his city, forced to watch Scarn use my life as a leash. Then he had torn through a tower and half a rebellion because I walked into the room. But he still knew we had unfinished business. I saw it in the way he kept his hands away from me.

I wiped dried blood from the corner of his mouth and felt him watching me instead of the cloth. “You’ve been sitting here waiting for me to start yelling.”

“I assumed yelling was coming.” His voice scraped against the quiet room.