Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(71)

His tone bites. “What’s your point? Do you think I’m being dramatic or something?”

“I think you have a propensity for blowing things out of proportion,” he says slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

“Well, then you’re not gonna like what I say next.”

He waits.

Pushing some of the hair from my face, I exhale, my breath visible. “Uh, I don’t think my heater is working.”

“Your thermostat?”

“Yeah. It was extremely cold inside the other day, so I turned it up, but for some reason, it can’t keep the right temperature. The needle’s been dropping steadily since.”

Kal swears under his breath. “For fuck’s sake. Well, at least we know you won’t die being murdered. Just by freezing to death.”

I wince, a chill that has nothing to do with the air sweeping over me.

The scar on my hip throbs, and I struggle to stay present and not let the memory resurface.

“Goddamn. I’ll take care of it,” Kal says, and I can’t help the way his tone makes me shrink into the mattress, shame clawing its way up my windpipe. I want to apologize, but the words don’t come out.

Stupid, Riley. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Mom was right.

God, was she right.

“Your brother is not going to like this.”

I snort, the notion shoving me further into my spiral. “Boyd doesn’t give a shit what happens to me.”

“If that’s the case, I’d love for you to explain why I have to report my every fucking conversation and visit back to him.” Clearing his throat, I hear him say something to someone, but can’t quite make out the whisper. “Some people don’t know how to reach others when it’s never been done for them. Just because he doesn’t show up for you in the ways you think he ought to, doesn’t mean he’s not showing up.”

A sharp pang shoots through my chest, and I turn my face into the pillow, letting the cotton soak up the tears as they bleed over. “Does it even matter if I can’t see a difference?”

“It matters. Some journeys take longer to bear fruit, is all.”

It’s at odds with what he told me the last time he was here, and I can’t help wondering if maybe Boyd told him to say it. Like he thinks he might be able to lessen my hurt if he builds a case for himself through the people I trust.

I hang up without saying goodbye and spend a couple of minutes staring up at the ceiling. Part of me expects Aiden to jump out of the shadows, and so I wait a few beats, clutching the sheets to my chest as my eyes dart around the room.

The air is still, though. Lacking the charge that accompanies him.

I wait some more.

Curl and uncurl my toes.

Finally, I get out of bed, tightening the tie on my robe and sliding my feet into a pair of fuzzy purple slippers. My teeth chatter as I walk down the hall, gripping the banister on the stairs.

“Hello?” I call, hoping he’ll materialize and I can dive back under the covers. “Aiden?”

It feels idiotic, searching for some sort of comfort in the arms of a man who’s made it clear he despises me, and yet I can’t seem to stop.

When I’m met with more silence, I tiptoe down the stairs and scour the entire first level. Tremors roll over me as I move through the house, coming up empty.

Ending my search at the back door, I push it open and lean out, scanning the deck. The hot tub is covered up, and the darkness outside is as uninhabited as the inside.

Sighing, I pull back, moving to shut the door when light across the lake gives me pause.

This time, the shadowy figure remains in the window, his silhouette ensconced in yellow light.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I stumble back a step, my fingers shaking as I squeeze the fabric of my robe in them. Anxiety twists through my muscles like a pretzel, everything locking up as it spreads to my limbs.

Neither of us moves, and I can feel the snow seeping into my slippers, freezing where it bleeds into my toes.

A fever builds in my core, too. It radiates up my thighs and covers the chill in my bones.

Standing there, soaking in his invisible scrutiny, I realize I like the flames.

Something in me craves that heat. Feels desperate for him.

I turn away, determination propelling me back inside the house so I can put on a pair of boots. I shouldn’t go there, shouldn’t throw myself at the feet of this dangerous man. But for some reason, I think I’d rather be there than have to sit with the ice that’s made a home in my veins.

I’ll choose his warmth, even if it means getting burned.

At least when you’re on fire, you know you’re alive.





Somehow, I make it around the lake in one piece; using the flashlight on my phone, I step in the soft footprints he’s left behind, following the path he apparently takes every time he comes to me.

My knuckles are red and raw by the time I get to the front door, and pain splices up my forearm when I bring them against the wood.

I blow into my palms, rocking on my heels while I wait for him to answer. It takes an impossibly long time, and I step off the porch for a second, glancing up at the second-story window to see that the light’s gone out since I left my deck.

Rejection ricochets around my skull, bouncing excitedly from one side to the next, causing a headache to sprout behind my brow bone.