Jermin's POV
A certain forced quiet shrouded the morning after the storm: man-made, not natural, but an unease of a kind, a state in which men bow down to you, and you remain dissatisfied.
In my study, where dark oak walls rose and shadows older than offences carried the fading whiff of old scotch, paper, and gunpowder that had become my serenity after I'd grasped it. My way: the way I charted with force rather than courteous persuasion.
I gazed out at the muted cityscape beyond floor-to-ceiling glass, so thick it could withstand a bullet, but nobody was ever stupid enough to approach and try.
Later, the morning updates.
More anger crept in; a great deal more than should have. Wasted minutes tortured felt like a familiar weakness. And I had incinerated too much, dried out too many people to allow some ignorance to slip through my walls.
There was a knock.
Then the door creaked, plainly, without asking.
There was only one person foolish enough to do so.
"Good morning, boss," was a sultry and smooth drawl.
Nina Vale.
Her high heels clicked on the fine wood as she entered, her hips rocking in rhythm like a metronome set for murder. The tight sheath that hugged her body with second skin-like intimacy was black; the slit was high enough to be sexy and also menacing.
I didn't glance up. I knew that scent; pungent, fiery, with a vanilla undertone that clung for too long. She used it as a shield of protection.
"You're late," I stated matter-of-factly.
The throaty laugh held no hint of apology. "Couldn't resist the second espresso. Or the mirror."
"Resist both next time."
"Didn't miss me too much, did you?" she cut in, staying just long enough to be seen.
I didn't glance up. "Say something helpful."
The smirk paused for half a beat. She's used to reading me, but I've stopped being readable. Lust is one currency I never trade in, not with her, not with anyone who could become a leverage.
Finally, she grinned at the chair opposite me and placed a thin tablet on the table. "You're pricklier than usual."
"I don't like loose ends. And lately, I'm seeing too many of them."
She raised an eyebrow. "Afraid someone's tugging on one?"
I said nothing.
Because yes—there was a tug. A small one. Just enough to pull on memory.
Just enough to pull on her.
I swallowed the pill. Rapid and precise, I downloaded those reports. The finances were sound. No serious border disputes. But something pounded in my chest like a hammer.
"Talk to me," I said.
"Rumours of alliances," Nina said. "The remnants of the old clans regrouping—smaller ones, too. Whispers of cracks in the leadership."
I smiled. "They misunderstand silence for rot."
She cocked her head. "Blame them? You haven't been seen in public for months."
"Don't require a stage; I control the theatre."
She laughed again, more deliberately this time. "Told like a man aware that his ghosts will not accompany him into the spotlight."
My grip on the tablet tightened.
And she saw it.
That was the issue with Nina. She noticed too much.
"Ally?" she said, "Symbolic, if not strategic. Something to muffle the dogs' teeth."
I stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet. Back to her: I required some distance. Filling myself a glass of thirty-year-old Macallan—like most good enemies.
"What symbol is this?" I said.
How she replied left me shocked.
"Marry."
I turned back slowly.
She smiled. "Not me, of course. Although I could be persuaded--for an island, naturally."
I did not smile. I did not blink.
"You believe I require a wife to show strength?"
"Not strength," she said. "Stability. Legacy. Vision."
I drank the whiskey and let the burn rest on my tongue. "I don't traffic in delusions."
Her expression hardened, though she disguised it well. "It's not a delusion if it keeps blood off the streets."
And then shrugged. "Also, not like you have a lot of choice. Monroe's are dead. And no surviving heirs."
She paused. "Unless you count Alice."
The word pierced my chest.
I looked back through the window.
"Alice Monroe," she said. "Liam's only daughter. She disappeared as soon as things cleared up. No eulogy, no retaliation. Just disappeared. Marrying her could bring stability to bad, she's off the grid."
I was silent.
"She wouldn't dream of returning," Nina told me. "Not after what occurred."
Not after what I'd done.
Seven years had not diminished the memory. If anything, time had sharpened it.
Her voice—broken. Her hands were trembling as she forced the ring I gave her back into my chest. Her eyes, the last I ever saw them, were hollow and burning with betrayal.
I said I didn't love her.
I said she was nothing.
For if I hadn't, I would have collapsed at her feet.
I drained another shot, gritting my teeth.
And then—Elijah's voice snarled over the intercom, its crackle laced with tension.
"Boss. Something's come up."
"What is it?" I returned to the desk.
"Elmo, our Southpoint contact, just pinged a report. Monroe estate. Someone burgled it last night. Late. Cleaned it out. No sign of break-in. They must have had an entry point."
I circled my hand around the edge of the desk.
"Who is that?"
"No ID yet. Motion detectors picked up a body in the east wing. Too fuzzy for the face. But whoever it was. Moved like he was meant to be there."
My head was reeling.
She wouldn't—
But I knew better.
If she were back, she wasn't here to mourn.
She was back to finish what we never did.
"Full coverage," I barked. "I want eyes on that house. Tails on every former Monroe contact. No one inhales or exhales within range of that property without our knowing."
"Do you think it's Alice?" Nina ventured softly.
I did not answer.
I looked at the skyline, but I did not see the city.
I saw moonlight on skin.
Her skin.
Alice below me, fists clenched in my hair, words trembling against my ear. "If I love you, will you let me in?"
And I hadn't answered.
Because if she ever let herself in, she'd see all the blood on my hands. And she'd never forgive me.
This time, she might be back.
If she were.
Then this city would burn.
Flashback
Moonlight on skin made bare.
Alice under me, fingers driven into my shoulders, ramming deeper as I held her down. Her voice was half-moan, half-prayer.
"You scare me," she whispered, "and that's why I can't stop."
I remember how she looked at me when she was able to see the boy beneath the king. The boy who grew up with wolves and thought that his path was not to be devoured.
She made me feel alive.
That was not safe.
So I killed her.
I broke her on purpose because holding onto her would have been a fight I had no money to win. And if she'd stayed. I'd have chosen her over anything.
___________________
Back to Present
I put down the glass.
It shattered.
Nina jumped.
"Elijah," I told him, my voice even. "Put a tail on the Monroe estate. Full surveillance. I want to know who entered, what they touched, who they looked at, who looked back."
"Done," was the sharp response.
I turned my attention back to Nina, chewing on her lip-unusually indecisive.
"Do you believe it's her?"
I remained silent. Instead, I walked over to the window and looked out at the city skyline, my domain of glass and steel. My image glared back at me-calm, collected, indubitably unshatterable.
Yet my heart pounded inside louder than it had in years.
If Alice had returned…
All of my
deceptions buried…
All of my dead, all of my remembrances…
They're clawing their way to the surface.
This time, she would not be my downfall.
She would be my war.
And I do not lose wars.