Page 93 of Dance of Deception

His piercing gaze hardens, voice dropping. "Are you being forced into this wedding?"

The words hit like a gunshot.

Kir leans forward slightly, his hands steepled in front of him. "If you’re feeling pressured—whether for money, or for any other reason that makes you feel as if you don’t have a choice—" He clears his throat, resting his hands on the edge of the desk, his gaze steel-cutting into me.

"Now is the time to say something. And I am the one to say it to."

The room goes still.

"I’m your way out, Lyra. I’m your lifeline, if you need it. But you have to tell me right the fuck now."

He leans in. "Do you need me to stop your wedding to Carmine Barone. Yes or no?"

The fact that I hesitate at all tells me I should probably be committed.

The fact that I don’t immediately scream“YES, SAVE ME, KIR!”and leap across the desk into his arms is proof that I’m unwell, unfit to take care of myself.

I could lie and say the reason I don’t say yes is that I’m scared of Carmine.

But the truth?

I don’t say yes because I might already be too tangled up in his darkness to break free.

I meet Kir’s gaze, forcing a smile. "Thank you," I say quietly. "But I’m okay."

Kir’s expression doesn’t change. He watches me, his gaze a little too sharp, a little too knowing.

Then he nods. "Very well."

He stands, adjusting his suit jacket. "I wish you a very happy and fulfilling marriage," he adds dryly.

He stops beside me as I rise. His brow furrows slightly. "Again, my intention wasn’t to scare you. Just to inform you."

I swallow. "Thanks."

Kir nods, his expression unreadable.

“Your father isnotwalking around like some vengeful ghost, Lyra."

He places a firm, powerful hand on my tense shoulder.

"Ghosts aren’t real."

I manage to keep my composure.

But the second he’s gone, the words I can’t shake from my head slither through my skull like a death sentence.

You’ll pay dearly for putting me away, moya dorogaya doch’.

Ghosts aren’t real.

But what happens if they are?

16

THE HOUND

The old stonecathedral walls drink in the candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the vaulted ceiling.

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