5. Imogen

5

IMOGEN

I wake to the soft rustling of bedsheets.

She always leaves .

Nora's arm shifts under my neck, but I twist, not daring to open my eyes, and burrow my nose in the crook at her collarbone. My legs entangle themselves with hers; I'm a leech to her warmth, to her presence.

"Don't go yet," I groan. "The sun isn't even up."

Her soft chuckle shakes us both. "It is. And I have to."

Cracking open one eyelid, I confirm that the early morning sun is, in fact, peeking through the curtains. It casts golden-orange stripes across the bed.

We do have the monthly Sins meeting tonight, but that isn't until the evening.

"What's another five minutes?" I say, snuggling closer.

Our bodies are two puzzle pieces that fit together. We're not quite naked; Nora's still wearing her undergarments and my nightshirt's ridden up. The matching pants in my silk sets never seem to stay on when she comes over, so my legs are beautifully bare.

Her sigh puffs over my forehead.

Nora twists, bringing us nose to nose. In the process, her thigh rubs against my sensitive core, pulling a groggy moan from me. She tries to pull back, but my hips follow hers, chasing that glorious friction.

"Stay," I say.

It's an order and a plea.

"Another five minutes, huh?"

The huff of her soft laughter brushes the shell of my ear. I can hear the smirk in her words. Her hand that's wrapped around my waist wanders, tracing circles over the crest of my hip and down the lush side of my thigh. The smooth pads of her fingertips play with the lacy edge of my nightshirt.

"You're being greedy , Lust. Did I not leave you satisfied last night?"

Gooseflesh rises on my arms.

I brush my lips against hers. "Use my real name when you're in my bed."

" Imogen ," she chides. Her fingers slide under my shirt, grazing over the soft flesh of my tummy, then lower, playing at the waistband of my underwear. "Open your legs for me."

Fuck. Is it possible for a voice to make you come?

I'm quick to comply, giving her easy access to my core.

You'd think I would be satiated after last night. But I'm not. I never am. My body is to her like a moth is to flames. It's a dangerous thing, giving into her touch, and I can't help but beg to burn.

Nora's lips capture mine, rough and seeking. She's desperate, thirsty as the desert is for rain in her ministrations. Her tongue licks the seam of my lips, and I yield with a moan, our tongues dancing steps we've memorized. My hands find purchase on her shoulders, and my nails dig into the skin there as she rubs circles over my covered core. She's relentless, keeping a steady pace despite the way my hips buck against her hand.

She concedes to my body's begging, finally slipping her hand underneath my lace underwear and into my heat. Her fingers quickly find the spot that makes me fall apart, and they curl over it repeatedly, all while her thumb strums at my clit.

And just when the pleasure is about to crest over that hill, Nora pulls away. My lids snap open to find her devilish eyes studying me as she actively denies me release.

"That's five minutes."

Before my mind can process, Nora hops from the bed with a maniacal laugh.

"You're such a tease," I growl, grabbing a pillow from behind me and throwing it at her. "You can't do that."

She dodges, her snickers growing into cackles as she scurries towards the bathroom. But before she disappears past the archway, she turns, a smirk dimpling her cheeks.

"Yes, I can," she says. "You said five minutes."

Then sucks her fingers into her mouth, licking them clean.

I can't help but bite into my bottom lip at the sight.

Nora's fingers exit her mouth with a pop . She winks and, without another word, disappears into the bathroom.

Moments later, the shower spurts on, steam quickly billowing from the cracked door.

I pull one of the pillows left on the bed over my head, letting loose a groan.

Maybe I should've stayed asleep.

But would waking up alone, again, have been any better than this?

I throw the pillow to the other side of the bed.

No. Waking up alone would have been worse .

At least now she has to look me in the eye as she leaves before breakfast.

Kicking the covers away, I get out of bed. I don't bother changing into full day clothes yet—the clock arms stand at a measly six and ten. I wrap myself in a velvet robe instead. Pulling the knot tight across my waist, I pad around the room, picking up our clothes from the night before and draping them on to the bed.

If I hid her pants, would she have to stay?

A half smile tugs at my lips at the thought.

No, she'd probably ring Josie to bring her a spare and then be on her merry way.

When I lift Nora's coat and hang it over my arm, something heavy within its pocket hits my hip. Reaching into the folds of the wool trench coat, my fingers curl around a glass bottle.

Is she carrying flasks with her cigarettes too? Jeeze.

I drop her coat on the bed with the rest of her clothes and shuffle over to the window for better light. I examine the bottle, squinting to read the handwritten label. Popping the cork, I take a whiff and nearly gag.

Definitely not any liquor I know.

Once I have the cork secured in place, I flip the bottle. My brows shoot to my hairline as sunlight reflects on the small, raised icon stamped into the glass.

A pair of wings, but not feathered. A four-pronged butterfly.

Seelie.

Shit .

The water cuts off in the bathroom, and the curtain rings squeak across the shower rod. I jolt at the metallic scrape, dropping the bottle onto the ground. It rolls across the floor and under the bed.

Double shit.

There's no time to dive under the bed for it.

Instinct has me scurrying to my vanity. I sit and busy myself with straightening the messy pile of makeup that I left last night before spritzing myself with some perfume.

Rosy floral notes tickle my nose and calm my jolted nerves.

Nora steps from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that does nothing to cover her lean legs. She spots her clothes laid out on the bed and her brows furrow.

"You didn't have to do that," she says.

I shrug, watching as she tosses the towel into the hamper and pulls on her clothes. Everything is a shade of black or white; cream undergarments that match her skin, a white blouse, and black pants. I imagine her closet is completely devoid of color, though I'd love to one day find out.

We never go back to her place.

My stomach twists. It's a yearning that I've been battling more and more often when it comes to the woman before me.

Finally, Nora pulls on her jacket. When she smooths down the front, patting her pockets, she pauses. Her observant eyes scan the floor in one slow swoop, the line between her brows deepening.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine."

She does another pass around the room before scratching her head.

"Actually," she says, slowly. "I had a new product sample." She holds her fingers apart. "A flask about yay big. I didn't take it out last night, did I?"

My tongue turns to cotton in my mouth, but the lie still slips over my tongue with ease.

"Not that I remember. We did drink a lot."

Nora lets loose a snort.

"That we did." She visibly shakes away her confusion. "I must have left it at the warehouse."

She walks to me, reaching out with a now-gloved hand. It grazes over my cheek, a tender touch goodbye, though, her eyes beget no emotion.

Any cracks I might have made in that fortress of hers last night are now repaired and sealed.

The yearning in my gut spoils into hurt.

"You know that you can stay," I offer.

"I can't."

"Can't or don't want to?"

"I have things that need to be done before the Sins meeting."

I sigh, turning to my vanity. I busy my hands with my makeup again, putting each tin of rogue and mascara in its rightful place this time.

Nora's eyes meet mine in the mirror, a thin line spearing down the center of her brows. If I could sense what she's feeling, understand why she needs to run from me, then maybe I could choose the right words to convince her to stay.

"We can do something after," Nora says.

She crouches down and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Then she's out the door. And not once does she look back.

We're going over architectural plans for a new bar in the eastern block when Leo gives me the look for the third time.

My eyes flick from him back to the papers and then to the backbar. After Nora left, I had fished the tonic from under my bed and tucked it there, hidden between bottles of liquor. I've been stewing about it ever since.

Do I bring it up to her? Say I found it under the bed when I was cleaning and act none the wiser?

Do I ignore it completely? Dump it down the drain and toss the bottle in the trash and hope it's not something important?

Each hypothetical scenario has me gritting my teeth, embarrassed at how I was snooping.

I thought I was done with that.

I draw my attention back to the blueprints clutched tightly between my fingers. The lines and numbers on the page blur together; focus eludes me, and the heat of Leo's stare isn't helping.

The papers land with a smack onto the counter.

"Alright. What is it?" I ask.

His brows fly to the top of his forehead. "What?"

"That look. On your stupid face." I wave my hand at him. "Either knock it off or tell me whatever it is you're thinking."

Leo purses his lips, running a hand over his cropped curls.

"You're really milking the suspense here," I grumble, reaching for my drink.

When Leo had silently poured a glass of my favorite wine earlier, I hadn't complained. Alcohol at noon sounded like an excellent idea to cure my emotional hangover.

"You know I don't try to get into your personal business," Leo says.

My snort almost makes me choke on my wine.

"Uh-huh," I say, wiping a small dribble that's escaped the corner of my mouth.

"I said try— doesn't mean it works." He tries to hold back a guilty smile. "But I have to ask…"

My gut sinks, knowing exactly where he's going with this. It's the same conversation every time. Leo thinks he needs to fill the shoes that my big brother left. What I really need is for him to trust that I can figure my own shit out.

"Did she stay for breakfast this morning?"

My neck heats involuntarily at his question. I rub at it, hoping the action will hide the blush.

"I don't think this is an appropriate conversation," I say, clearing my throat.

"Mo." Leo levels me with the look again. It's that of a concerned friend—the one that screams of an impending intervention. "Fucking her is one thing. And I get it. She's attractive. But it's been years."

"I'm intimately aware of how long we've been fucking," I mutter.

Years— plural —sounds worse out loud than in my head.

Leo shakes his head and rounds the table. Shifting into the seat at my side, he scratches his stubble before speaking again.

"I don't need my magic to see that she clearly likes you. But I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't point out that there's something off about it all. How long are you going to wait for her to give you more than her Friday nights? I don't want you getting hurt."

I grind my teeth together; they've got to be shaved smooth with how tight I've kept my jaw the past six hours.

"You don't have to worry about mending a future broken heart, Leo," I snap. "I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing. And, as I've told you many times before, I'm perfectly capable of separating sex from feelings."

But that's a lie, isn't it?

I silently curse the Gods.

"I know the past few years have been an adjustment, and Nora's been an easy crutch. I get it, truly. You weren't the only one whose life changed from that crash," he says, sighing. "Just think about what it is you want. And consider whether she will be able to give it to you in the long run."

Then he stands, gathers the blueprints from the table, and disappears behind the bar into his office.

I hate it, but my Second is right.

What is it that I really want from Nora? I could list a million specific things, but it can all be encompassed in one word: more.

It's that simple.

But at the same time, it's too fucking complicated.

We're both the leaders of our Houses and that comes with responsibilities that will always complicate relationships—let alone those with someone from another House.

And I know Nora well enough to understand that her House comes first. Her family comes first.

I could be her family too…

My head falls into my hands, and I let loose a frustrated groan. I just need to get through today. Then I can talk to Nora and get it all out there so there are no secrets.

My thoughts drift back to the tonic.

Shit. I have to deal with that too.

I don't know how long I sit there, palms squishing my cheeks and nails digging divots into my forehead, before a powerful presence slithers into the bar. The hair on my arms stands on end.

"Rough morning?"

The Unseelie King's voice is sensual without trying to be—a rich and melodic siren's call.

It makes me squirm. And not in a good way.

He had to show up today, didn't he?

I silently curse the Gods for their terrible timing.

I steel my shoulders as I twist in my seat, tossing the smirking bastard a glare.

The last black tendrils of shadow dissipate around his feet, the only visual sign of his magic fading into the ether. He's pulled it back, but his power still radiates off him in waves. His magic is as deeply rooted as the eldest tree in Faerie and as vast as the ocean.

Silas casually leans against the bar, legs crossed, hands tucked in his fitted suit's pants pockets. His white hair is cropped short on the sides, the top longer and pushed back from his forehead—though a stray piece hangs loose and brushes the top of his brows. He raises those brows, patiently waiting for a greeting.

"Your cousins keep embarrassing themselves in my bar," I say in lieu of a hello.

He pulls a hand from his pockets to wave in the air. "They're idiots."

I have to hold back my eye roll.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "What can I do for you, Your Majesty?"

Silas pushes off the bar, stalking towards me. Lean muscles carry him silently across the space between us.

"It's been a couple of months. I figured it was time for a check in on our favorite new addition to the pack, given the first meeting of the last quarter is tonight," he says. His lips purse. "I guess she isn't considered new anymore, is she? One year already under her belt as of last night."

My stomach drops.

When Nora first took over House Pride, Silas asked me to spy on her. I refused at first. But then he threatened Leo, and I found myself stuck.

I tried to feed him common information, things anyone could find out if they dug deep enough. But Silas has an empath's instinct, and he's far from stupid. He knows when I hold back and swiftly reminds me of what's at stake. Not that I've ever had anything of note to share. Until today.

Silas drops into the chair across from me.

He took the throne at only eighteen, crowned fifty years ago after his parents were killed at the Winter Solstice celebration between the Faerie Courts. He's ruled with cruel precision ever since.

"So…" He smiles, sharp and cold. "Tell me what's new."

I hold back a bitter laugh. It's comical, actually. I've been a mess all morning over Nora not giving me more of her heart, yet here I am about to report about her to Silas.

The hypocrisy is not lost on me. Guilt swells in my gut as a result.

I lick my dry lips, contemplating if I can keep what I found this morning as it is and should be: a secret.

"You're hesitating. I thought we've been over this, Lust," Silas says. His head turns to Leo's closed office door. "You have such little family left. It'd be a shame to lose more of it because of a little guilt."

"You'd kill him here? Right in front of me?" I seethe. It's the first time I've tried to call his bluff, the roiling emotions in my belly fueling the words.

His lips twitch. He's holding back a laugh.

"No. But accidents occur all the time. Your mother and brother, for example," he says. "When you upset the wrong people, things happen."

My throat tightens. I know that Silas wasn't the one who caused the crash that killed my family and Leo's mom, but the principle is the same.

My eyes flick to the backbar on instinct. But his eyes follow, and a smile curves his lips.

He knows he's got me.

I curse internally, shoulders sagging as I push up from the table.

"Give me a second."

Am I a coward to give in so easily? Maybe. But I can't stomach the alternative.

I hate myself for it.

Silas watches me, his irises are twin black voids tracking every step as I grab the bottle from the liquor shelf.

"There's nothing new that you don't already know," I say, glancing away from his intense stare as I place the bottle on the table. "Except for this."

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

Silas scoffs, as if annoyed that I'm telling the truth.

"There's a crest on the bottom," I say begrudgingly.

He flips the bottle, tracing over the imprint of the Seelie wings, a hum sounding from his closed lips. Then, he turns the bottle upright, pops the cork, and sniffs—though he isn't nearly as affected by the smell as I was.

"Interesting," he murmurs.

He dips his finger in, coating the tip in the amber liquid, and lifts it to his mouth. He smacks his lips while staring narrow-eyed at the bottle. Then, he grabs my glass of wine, throwing it back.

His face sours.

"That is far too sweet for my liking," he says, pointing to my empty wine glass. Then he points to the tonic. "And that has a terrible aftertaste."

I have no idea how to react to that; I blink at him with a slack jaw.

He's insane . That could've been poison.

"Stop looking at me like that. It's just a healing tonic."

I snap my jaw shut.

How does he know that?

"Well, with that out of the way," he drawls as he stands, pocketing the tonic in his suit. "One more question and I'll be out of your hair."

He stalks over to the empty dance floor, head tilted towards the rafters. Devoid of patrons, our voices echo. The sterile house lights cast everything in harsh shadows.

"How is she?" he asks.

" How is she ?" I repeat.

"Yes."

It's such an open-ended question. How is she?

"Why are you interested in her, anyway?" I ask. "She's proven herself capable as Pride. Exceptional even, given everything she's already done for her House."

It was unbelievable, actually. Nora and Josie stepped into their roles seamlessly, taking over with grace and a kind of ambition I could only imagine having. Not only are they expanding their businesses, but I hear the rumors—I know they've put an end to clippings. Now, the barbaric House Pride tradition that they had to suffer through won't be forced on anyone else. I've seen the scars on their backs—their change is a blessing.

Nora's got a pure heart. She might be violent and dangerous, but it's there, underneath all the layers of bravado.

But he knows all this, as I do. I've told him as much from the start.

"I keep tabs on the Royals and the other Sins, but you don't ask about them in such detail. What's different about her?" I ask.

He's got an infuriating, lopsided grin plastered across his face when he shrugs. Smoky tendrils of shadow curl around his body. But as they swallow him whole, he leaves me with an answer.

"Call it a gut feeling, Lust. There's something more there that you're not seeing."