“Did I?” I ask.
Corinda snorts. “Most likely, you just wanted to get rid of Alana.”
I cut a glance at her and she swallows, turning pale. “What do you know about the garnet?” I ask Sylveria. She’s obviously the only person in the know here.
“Just what I’ve heard,” she says. “Why? Did something happen to yours?”
Did she infect my servers, garnet, and thus me? I give her the full force of my attention. Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the wine. “What did you do, Sylveria?”
“Nothing,” she says.
I’ve gone without a mint this time, so I’m forced to taste the words around me. Horace’s are like moldy licorice. Stacia’s, too thick mulberry wine. And Corinda, lemonade that needs sugar.
But Sylveria, she’s all smooth chocolate, and I can’t read her completely. It’s a true gift she has. “Rumor has it you killed your husband. Did you?”
She gasps and leans back. Even then, all I can taste is chocolate. Slightly bitter, but now strong enough to prove a lie? “Of course not.”
Fuck. I can’t tell if she’s lying. She’s too good. “You want to tell me the truth.” I allow the killer lurking inside me to show himself.
Her head snaps up. “How dare you call me a liar in my own house! We are here to discuss our alliance, perhaps by marriage.”
I turn and look at her daughters. “Are you both willing to marry me?”
Corinda nods and licks her lips.
Stacia lifts an eyebrow. “One of us is willing to marry you. You can’t have us both.”
There’s something about her that’s likable, the dry sense of humor and the clear mind. I wonder if Justice would be interested. Of course, we have to figure out what their mother did to our servers—if she’s the culprit.
The soup disappears and the steak shows up. I take a bite. It’s delicious, but combined with the other tastes in my mouth from these people, it’s too much. “You do know that I believe in payback.” I speak directly to Sylveria this time.
She throws her napkin onto the table. “Fine. Hypothetically, I may have an idea of who attacked your garnets and thus your servers.”
“I believe said attack tried to maim me, although it’s not having any effect.” My feet are freezing, damn it.
“No effect?” The glint in her eye makes the blue sparkle brighter. “I will devote all of my resources to discovering who has attacked Malice Media”—she takes another sip of her wine—“after we consolidate our holdings in marriage. You do want to live, don’t you?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Alana
It’s well after midnight when I stumble into my apartment, where I’m instantly swallowed by the smell of the fragrant roses. My lungs heat and I wander to my bedroom. Shadows wisp through the closed blinds, and I rub my eyes, heading to the bath to change into a well-worn T-shirt. At the office all day, I spent hours charging the aquamarines before scouring through personnel reports and threats to the company and my family for the last year.
Many people don’t like us, and today I’m aware of the many threats my family members have kept from me. No wonder my father is so vigilant when it comes to security details.
There are at least six outside.
I also managed to get Ella into the company servers, which is something I should feel guilty about. Maybe tomorrow after I’ve had rest. Then I’ll also worry about the other two emotes I posted, describing Thorn’s chest and his sexy growl. No doubt the Rendale sisters got to hear the latter during their dinner with him. Thorn didn’t text me again once he went inside.
Jerk.
Yawning, I tie up my hair, brush my teeth, and apply moisturizer to my face before padding back into my bedroom.
Something is wrong.
I pause in the doorway, looking around. Nothing is out of place. But tension thickens the atmosphere, and my heart rate hits mach ten.
The rose quartz light on the other side of my bed flicks on.
I yelp and jump back, prepared to slam the bathroom door.
Thorn stands there, somehow part of the shadows. Only his crisp white shirt shows within his expertly cut black suit. “Evening, Alana.”
I gulp. “How in the hell did you get inside?” My gaze flashes to the closed window. The security is intended to prevent another kidnapping. Yet it has to be good enough to keep folks out. Thorn must be fucking brilliant.
“Are you ready for your punishment?” His voice is velvet soft.
My eyes widen, and suddenly, I’m wide-awake. I backpedal and try to shut the door, but he’s already there, forcing it open. It occurs to me, much too late, that feeling safe with all the security around me is foolish, considering I’m dealing with a man like Thorn. Is he even a man? “Um.”
“‘Um’ doesn’t do it.” His callused fingers trail down my bare arm.
Fireflies ignite inside me, zipping around, landing everywhere they shouldn’t. My breath catches and my thighs tremble. Fear and anticipation clash in my body, and I frantically search for an escape route. My shirt suddenly flies over my head and then I’m in his arms, headed toward the bed. “No.” I punch him in the throat.
His growl isn’t pleased or sexy. It’s pissed.
I freeze.
He tosses me onto my back, and before I can scramble away, he has one wrist wrapped tight and is dragging my arm up toward the bedpost.
