Page 136 of Lamb

“I got a bit … distracted.” I licked my lips. Ash’s eyes traced the movement with amusement wrinkling her eyes.

“I needed a dress.” Ash sighed, dropping her head onto my shoulder, her hair a tangled mess around her shoulders. I began forming plans to tackle the nest as her next words spoke volumes. “I cannot go to a party without a dress.”

I looked at her. Her eyes were sharp. And even with exhaustion taking over both, she was determined, and with a deep breath, said the words that would start and ultimately end everything.

“I am ready.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

ASH

Iwasnotready.

Whatever epiphany had convinced me this was a good idea was nowhere in sight as we patiently moved up in the queue of cars. Lamb’s Lamborghini was a pebble on the shore amongst the sea of expensive, luxurious, one-of-a-kind cars pulling the rich, the famous, and the affluent towards the hotel doors. It was a grand building, historic and palatial, with tall stone pillars and wide double-height doors with a red-carpet tongue rolling down the stairs, slicing through the wall of photographers and paparazzi buried behind cameras and flashes.

“Maybe this is not the best idea, after all …” I breathed. My clammy hands clung to the material of my dress, sponging the sweat from my palms and blocking my nails from bedding into my skin. My mouth felt dry, and my tongue was thick as the lights and noise grew closer.

Warmth spread over my palm as he pushed open my hand, fingers fitting between mine, and squeezed tight. I clung back, watching his knuckles turn white under my grip, but the motion was anchoring, and my chest loosened a little.

“If something goes wrong,” I whispered, letting my free hand trace the veins along his knuckles, “you need to get out of here.” I turned to look at him, his brown eyes ready and waiting to meet mine. They were bright and burning, and even in the dark cabin of the car, their heat blazed across my skin. A confused brow furrowed above his nose. “Without me.”

“No.” His frown deepened into displeasure, his grip flexing. He tried to shake me free but could not. Even if it was half-hearted, the attempt made a lump curl in my throat.

“Lamb, listen to me,” I pleaded, the creeping anxiety bubbling in my stomach. “If it comes to it, you need to leave me and go back to the club.”

“I won’t,” Lamb growled, his tone cold and cutting across my fragile skin. It jarred me back to when we first met, when he had acted more machine than human. “There would be less to go back to. Same repetitive life. Same world of grey.”

“At least it would be a life,” I argued, the image of his cold, colourless home flashing through my mind. I thought of his red bed sheets and the little black cat sitting on the coffee table, waiting for our return. “Better grey than nothing at all.”

Leather suffocated under Lamb’s white-knuckle grip on the wheel. I watched it process through his mind. The subtle ripple of emotion, as new and stiff as they were, struggled for comprehension beneath the handsome planes of his face.

After an age, a saturated sigh loosened Lamb’s grip, both around the wheel and in my palm. Resolution calmed the stirring seas of his face, and it washed over my own with cool relief.

I knew it was not with understanding, but with resignation, that softened Lamb’s expression. Even if he did not understand my choices, he understoodme.

If it came down to it, I was ready to give it all up. Just like I always had. If I became something that would tie him to his death, I was willing to cut that cord.

That would never change.

“What colour?” Lamb asked, eyes calmer, brighter, staring ahead at the approaching stream of valets.

“What?”

“What colour do you want to paint the bedroom?” Lamb reiterated. I had not misheard him. Seeing the confusion clear on my face with a flickering side eye, he elaborated, “After this, when we get home, we need to pick a new house together. So, I want to know what colour we should paint the bedroom.”

Warmth and tingling vibrations spread through every nerve, muscle, and bone, threatening to melt me into a puddle as I understood his meaning.

“I want hot pink,” I murmured, my voice tight through the thick lump growing larger in my throat.

“Okay.”

“I am kidding,” I sighed, releasing his hand.

Lamb’s grip tightened. It was his turn to hold me still, to grip my palm tight as he dragged it over to his chest and laid my knuckles against his sternum. “If you want hot pink walls, I will give you hot pink walls.” Lamb turned, those burning, rich hazel eyes holding me hostage. “If you want me, then you can have me. If you want your freedom, you can have it. If you want to live, I will make sure you will.”

For a man who claimed he had no emotion, the weight of his words was crushing on my chest. Those eyes were a window into an endless sea that threatened to protect and destroy me; I did not know which one I preferred.

This time, it was my turn to struggle. I did not know what to do with these promises he made. With each of these convictions,he burned into my skin and tattooed my soul. As much as I felt precious, and privileged, and protected … I also felt fear.

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