Page 96 of A Debt of Darkness

I’m an idiot. A fucking idiot. Ivy’s been through an ordeal and almost died—and I’m about to give her a lecture. She tenses and prepares herself for the tirade she’s expecting.

This isn’t reasonable. I’m aware my anger is a mask for my fear. She deserves better from me and I sigh, forcing myself to cool. My shoulders sink as I relax and she looks surprised, prompting a smile to break across my face.

Ivy’s not the only one full of surprises.

“Never again, lea. Never do anything so fucking stupid.”

My smile widens and I catch sight of Matt lurking in the shadows. He’s rigid and tense, keeping his distance and doing everything he can to avoid provoking me. My temper’s running hot and even being near to Ivy might not stop me from lashing out at him.

“This isn’t my fault,” she says, defiantly.

I purse my lips.

“You were told to stay in your room. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did and you chose badly.”

Ivy pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. The little girl who defied all expectations huffs and the muffled sound is as devastating as an earthquake.

“Matt should have stayed. He should have kept you here. You were safe.”

Ivy’s eyes narrow. “He didn’t. He couldn’t. I wasn’t.”

Maybe it’s the blood running through her that’s made her so defiant, or perhaps she’s lashing out after coming so close to death. Ivy knows I won’t tolerate bad manners and normally she’d be pushing her luck. But there’s nothing usual about today and I tilt my head, asking her to tell me what it is she’s holding back.

“Are we going to talk about it?” she asks.

I don’t want to. I want to hold her. Breathe her in. Touch her and stroke her. Smell her, taste her.

“About what?”

Ivy stares at her hands and presses them together.

“The part of last night where Ryan saved me.”

I growl and she jumps. I don’t mean to scare her, but my reaction is primal. I’m a possessive asshole. It’s my nature and I can’t change it, even if I wanted to—and Ryan’s interference has made me territorial.

He’s the last thing I want to talk about and my wife is raising a topic that’ll only make me more vicious. More possessive. She’s looking at me, well aware of the emotions flooding through me—the anger and jealousy, the hurt and fear—and she’s pressing on, taking this conversation onto a topic others wouldn’t dare discuss.

“We don’t have to talk about him.”

I’m deflecting. Offering her an out in the hope she takes it and saves me from this gods’ awful conversation.

“I think we should.”

If she was standing, she’d be stamping her little foot in protest. All my experience is swept aside, counting for absolutely nothing as Ivy refuses to have any of my excuses. She’s breathtaking like this. Fierce. Confident. Determined.

It’s what saved her life last night.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you’re pissed as fuck with him,” she snaps back. “And because he’s loitering in my doorway looking half dead and I demand to know what is going on.”

My mouth falls open. I turn my head around and stare at Ryan, who is indeed standing in the doorway, looking half dead as he leans against the doorframe. The silver’s taking its toll and yet he’s dared to follow me up here, dared to taint this room with his presence.

After yesterday, he should know better.

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