Page 12 of Lost Kingdom

She can’t know, because she’s not from my world.

“Aubree?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes snap up in confusion, her pupils wide and dark, edging out the refreshing blue I crave daily. “What doesomertàmean?”

“It means we’re all punks. Especially now that Archer is a cop and there’s nothing I wouldn’t tell him. Also, decay is offensive to you? That’s odd, considering your vocation of choice.”

That air of dazedness washes away, replaced by renewed anger. “Nobody likes decay! So for you to say I’m prettier when I’m covered in death means you’re a jackass who essentially said I looked like shit today.”

“Does it give you a headache?”

“Doeswhatgive me a headache?”

“Your constant need to twist words and make me out to be the bad guy?” I bend and pick up the dress she’s abandoned, folding the bust and wishing so badly the built in boning was actually her. Her body. Her ribs. She’s so much smaller than me by comparison. Her tiny, hundred-and-ten-pound frame, doll-like and terrifying. But do I wish I could hold her?

Fuck yes. With every beat of my heart.

“I can be the monster in your stories, Emeri. But that doesn’t change what we’re doing here. You’re in the wrong city, and you’re friends with the wrong people. You insist on socializing with this mafia family, and I…”

“And you what? You’re gonna be a jealous shrew, ordering me around, but never truly taking accountability for the damage you cause?”

“I’m gonna make sure you live to the ripe old age of ninety-nine.” I bring her gown to my nose and inhale, noisy and shameless, so when I lower it again and find her face burning with a blush, I feel her indignation in my heart and savor the feeling for the rest of time. “Whether you’re talking to me is a moot point.”

“You don’t care?”

“I do. But I care more that you’re alive. The rest is noise and unfortunate consequences of the actions I consider non-negotiable. Though if I’m lucky, you might get over your tantrum and say yes to a fuckin’ dinner date between now and then. I’m not asking anyone else out, so…”

“You’re infuriating!” She spins toward the bed, her hair swinging with the momentum, then she tears the covers back to reveal silky black sheets I know were laid down in the last twenty-four hours. “Stop being charming and an asshole at the same time. It’s confusing.”

Grinning, I bring her dress up again and sniff for good measure. “I’m taking this to the floor with me. I’ll use it as a blanket, since you won’t share yours with me.”

“I hope you get cold.” She pats the bed until the dog jumps up, then she stabs long, lean legs under the covers, her toenails painted a rainbow of colors and a delicate, glittering chain wrapped around her ankle. Finally, she flips the lamp off before I have myself organized. The room drops into a blinding darkness, stealing my vision and leaving me frozen in place for an impossibly long moment. “Oh, sorry,” she lies, oh so fucking innocently. “Can you see?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I blindly move toward the bed and feel around, none too carefully despite Bastard’s warning growl, and grab whatever may be near. A hip bone. Her hair. I smirk in the darkness when she slaps my hand away. But then I fist a lump of blanket and whip the whole thing away until a tiger-like snarl rips through the room. “Sorry.” I hug the blanket that already smells of her. “Goodnight, Doctor Emeri.”

“Yougive me a headache.”

“Mmhmm. Dream of me. Maybe I’ll meet you there.”

4

AUBREE

THAT FIVE STAR TREATMENT

“Welcome, Mr. Malone.” The air hostess, whose nametag readsJacinta, drops her gaze as we approach the top of the jet’s stairs and Tim steps up behind me. His chest practically touches my back. His breath certainly flutters the locks of my hair. Jacinta is clearly well-trained in the ‘don’t look into the mafioso’s eyes, or like Medusa’s victims, you might die’ school of thought.

But then again, she doesn’t meet my eyes either, and I can’t say I appear all that threatening.

Killers don’t wear short skirts, thigh high socks, Doc Martin boots, and a jacket made of sequins.

“Welcome aboard,” she adds, avoiding my eyes and sheepishly gesturing along the aisle—though is it an aisle, considering we’re not on a commercial flight with hundreds of seats packed in like sardines in a can? “We’re set to take off just as soon as you’re ready. Meals will be served approximately one hour after we’re up. Coffee will be prepared as soon as the captain allows me to stand.”

“I’d like a coffee, please.” I don’t move along the aisle. I refuse, despite Tim’s hulking frame at my back.Look into my eyes, dammit! If you stand up to these jerkwads, they stop being scary. “The largest mug you have on board. Piping hot, and add sugar.Extrasugar. Please.”

“Yes, Doctor Emeri. I’ll get that organized immediately.”

“Let’s go.” Tim tosses our bags, literally unceremoniously lobs them, sothey land on the closest couch—definitely not a commercial airliner—then he wraps his palm around my biceps and forces me to move. “You’re holding us up, Emeri. I’d like to leave the state of New York sometime in the next twenty seconds.”

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