Page 70 of Serpent King's Prisoner

Chapter Thirty-Three: Abby

The afternoon light spilled into the spacious apartment, bathing everything in a golden hue that made even the air seem richer. I stood there, in Nathan’s clothes that hung loose on my frame, his scent surrounding me like an unspoken claim. My eyes lingered on the sprawling porch beyond the glass doors, a lush escape from the opulent prison of his apartment.

It really was gorgeous. I missed feeling the air on my skin.

“Can I go out there?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. The fresh air was calling to me, a siren song after days cooped up inside.

Nathan eyed me with the caution of a man who knew danger too well, his brown-black eyes unreadable. “Why?”

“Because I haven’t breathed real air in days,” I shot back, letting frustration lace my words. “Look, it’s your porch, Nathan. Where am I gonna go? You think I can sprout wings and fly off?” I jutted a hip, hoping my casual stance would hide the rapid beating of my heart.

He studied me for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of my words against every possible outcome. Finally, with a subtle nod, he stepped aside, gesturing towards the open door. “Fine. But don’t forget our deal.”

I didn’t need reminding. That deal was etched into my mind, a constant reminder of the line I walked between duty and something far more dangerous.

I stepped out onto the porch, the wood cool beneath my bare feet. I walked to the railing, resting my hands on the smooth surface. It really was too high to escape from here, even with the skills Nathan didn’t know I had; a sheer cliff dropped off toward the beach, where ordinary people walked with their dogs, oblivious to the fact that the most dangerous man in San Francisco lived in this very house.

With a deep breath, I inhaled the salty tang of the ocean breeze, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders. It felt like freedom, fleeting and precious, and I closed my eyes to savor it.

Nathan followed, his presence a silent shadow at my back. I could sense him there, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the coolness of the breeze. He remained quiet, giving me this moment of peace before whatever came next.

Looking out, I saw the beach stretched out before us, a few distant figures moving like ghosts along the shore, absorbed in their own worlds. They paid us no heed, just blurs of color and movement too far to discern. Nathan’s apartment, perched on the edge of civilization, offered a kind of solitude that was rare in the city.

“Nice view,” I remarked, not turning around.

“Helps me think,” he said, his voice low and contemplative.

“About rent control?” I asked.

He laughed. “Is there such a thing in Frisco?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not from here,” I said.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. His white shirt caught the sunlight, making him look less like the feared Fangs Zhou and more like…someone else entirely. Someone who could appreciate the simple beauty of the world, despite the darkness that clung to him.

He smirked. “I think you’ve probably been here long enough to feel like a local.”

“Fair enough,” I replied, opening my eyes to stare out at the horizon, where the sky met the sea in an endless embrace. “And don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten I have things to do.”

Nathan’s shoulders dropped. He extended his hand, and in his grip was my phone, its screen alive with frantic notifications.

“Call your dad,” he instructed, his tone sharp yet not unkind. “Tell him you’re safe.”

I took the phone, feeling its familiar weight in my palm. As I swiped through the lock screen, the missed calls and texts from my father and Erika bombarded me. Anxiety twisted in my gut, but I fought to keep my voice even. Nathan’s proximity was a constant reminder that every word mattered.

And if he saw anything to give me away, anyone saying Agent Harper…fuck.

“Okay,” I said, finding Dad’s contact and pressing the call button. The line trilled, a countdown to the performance I had to give.

“Abby, oh my god, where have you been?” My dad’s voice was laced with relief and fear, a combination that cut deep.

That’s when I felt the tears really start. I knew my dad had been affected by what had happened to me, but fuck, I had almost died–and then what? What would have happened to my father?

“I’m safe, Dad. I just…needed to get away for a bit,” I lied smoothly, keeping the tremor out of my voice despite the words tasting like ash, the tears sliding down my cheeks.

“What? Sprout–”

“I really am okay,” I said. “I just got swept up in things. I promise I’m fine.”

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