35. Ash

Chapter Thirty-Five

ASH

I was not ready.

Whatever epiphany had convinced me this was a good idea was nowhere in sight as we patiently moved up in the queue of cars. Lamb’s Lamborghini was a pebble on the shore amongst the sea of expensive, luxurious, one-of-a-kind cars pulling the rich, the famous, and the affluent towards the hotel doors. It was a grand building, historic and palatial, with tall stone pillars and wide double-height doors with a red-carpet tongue rolling down the stairs, slicing through the wall of photographers and paparazzi buried behind cameras and flashes.

“Maybe this is not the best idea, after all …” I breathed. My clammy hands clung to the material of my dress, sponging the sweat from my palms and blocking my nails from bedding into my skin. My mouth felt dry, and my tongue was thick as the lights and noise grew closer.

Warmth spread over my palm as he pushed open my hand, fingers fitting between mine, and squeezed tight. I clung back, watching his knuckles turn white under my grip, but the motion was anchoring, and my chest loosened a little.

“If something goes wrong,” I whispered, letting my free hand trace the veins along his knuckles, “you need to get out of here.” I turned to look at him, his brown eyes ready and waiting to meet mine. They were bright and burning, and even in the dark cabin of the car, their heat blazed across my skin. A confused brow furrowed above his nose. “Without me.”

“ No. ” His frown deepened into displeasure, his grip flexing. He tried to shake me free but could not. Even if it was half-hearted, the attempt made a lump curl in my throat.

“Lamb, listen to me,” I pleaded, the creeping anxiety bubbling in my stomach. “If it comes to it, you need to leave me and go back to the club.”

“I won’t,” Lamb growled, his tone cold and cutting across my fragile skin. It jarred me back to when we first met, when he had acted more machine than human. “There would be less to go back to. Same repetitive life. Same world of grey.”

“At least it would be a life,” I argued, the image of his cold, colourless home flashing through my mind. I thought of his red bed sheets and the little black cat sitting on the coffee table, waiting for our return. “Better grey than nothing at all.”

Leather suffocated under Lamb’s white-knuckle grip on the wheel. I watched it process through his mind. The subtle ripple of emotion, as new and stiff as they were, struggled for comprehension beneath the handsome planes of his face.

After an age, a saturated sigh loosened Lamb’s grip, both around the wheel and in my palm. Resolution calmed the stirring seas of his face, and it washed over my own with cool relief.

I knew it was not with understanding, but with resignation, that softened Lamb’s expression. Even if he did not understand my choices, he understood me.

If it came down to it, I was ready to give it all up. Just like I always had. If I became something that would tie him to his death, I was willing to cut that cord.

That would never change.

“What colour?” Lamb asked, eyes calmer, brighter, staring ahead at the approaching stream of valets.

“What?”

“What colour do you want to paint the bedroom?” Lamb reiterated. I had not misheard him. Seeing the confusion clear on my face with a flickering side eye, he elaborated, “After this, when we get home, we need to pick a new house together. So, I want to know what colour we should paint the bedroom.”

Warmth and tingling vibrations spread through every nerve, muscle, and bone, threatening to melt me into a puddle as I understood his meaning.

“I want hot pink,” I murmured, my voice tight through the thick lump growing larger in my throat.

“Okay.”

“I am kidding,” I sighed, releasing his hand.

Lamb’s grip tightened. It was his turn to hold me still, to grip my palm tight as he dragged it over to his chest and laid my knuckles against his sternum. “If you want hot pink walls, I will give you hot pink walls.” Lamb turned, those burning, rich hazel eyes holding me hostage. “If you want me, then you can have me. If you want your freedom, you can have it. If you want to live, I will make sure you will.”

For a man who claimed he had no emotion, the weight of his words was crushing on my chest. Those eyes were a window into an endless sea that threatened to protect and destroy me; I did not know which one I preferred.

This time, it was my turn to struggle. I did not know what to do with these promises he made. With each of these convictions, he burned into my skin and tattooed my soul. As much as I felt precious, and privileged, and protected … I also felt fear.

Fear I would one day believe him. Fear that I could wish for something more. That if it came down to it, I would wish more than anything to live. That I would risk it all for him.

I had never feared the price I would pay in return; I feared something far worse.

That I would not be the one to pay it.

There was no more time to talk as bright, flashing lights filled the cabin, and the valet hurried to my door.

Lamb turned, a tight smile pulling on his lips, the sharp lights bouncing off those cunning warm eyes. “Shall we?”

T hankfully, getting inside was easier than I had expected. When you were a nobody in a sea of somebodies, people paid you little attention as you made your turn slowly up the red carpet, trying not to draw suspicion. We made our way through the door, invitation in hand, and a champagne flute in the other.

We were engulfed immediately into a slow-moving tide of people; a large crowd gathered like a swarm of bees around elaborate, artistic displays. They sat on marble pedestals, some towering multiple feet into the air, while others were tiny and hidden behind glass displays. People muttered in bunches, discussing the pieces for auction and engaging in false pretences and sly business dealings under the tables.

My champagne soured; the notion of charity encompassing such an event felt bitter. Greed and betrayal were the gravity that pulled these powers together, not generosity.

We were not unlike.

Darkness and bad intentions dwelled in us as much as any other. Perhaps worse.

A tight squeeze of my waist dragged me from the gutters of my mind, warm fingers running along the exposed flesh of my dress. A pink flush heated my skin as I wore his hand like a decoration. I masked my features, hiding how much it electrified and grounded me.

“Stop,” I hissed, turning my head to his shoulder, the scent of his woodsy cologne-like spice on my tongue. “People are looking.”

“Of course, people are looking,” Lamb purred, reaching up with his other hand to push away a strand of hair curling over my collarbone. His fingers detoured, of course, running along the exposed flesh of my shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You look beautiful.”

“Beautiful and bizarre are different things,” I snipped, wanting nothing more than to press myself into Lamb’s chest and disappear.

I looked down at myself, regarding the red lace dress clinging to my slim body. It hugged my shape and alluded to curves that did not exist. It was a simple but beautiful dress and would have been lost in the parade of other stunning pieces. If not for one thing.

The moment Lamb had seen me in my dress, he’d chosen to make a single amendment.

The air was cold as it flashed through the crowd, skating across my exposed skin—my shoulder, my stomach, my thigh, my back, my lower leg, and the centre of my chest. In the places where my shining bright pink scars shimmered in the flashing lights, the red lace of my dress receded. It had been tailored, and the design now looked intentional, with the delicate lace edges framing each scar like a centrepiece.

I wrapped my arms over my belly, doing little to protect the exposed flesh from the chill. I had no extra hands to cover my other spots, and it left me no choice but to accept my display and, for the first time, people could see everything—my skin, and bones, and scars.

“You’re alive,” Lamb whispered, his breath warm and damp in the shell of my ear. He tugged me as close to him as I could get, traces of his body heat soothing my goose-pricked skin. “When the odds were against you, you survived. You recovered. And now it’s time to show the world that you live. That you survived. That you’re back.” He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my parted lips, before leaning back just enough for his eyes to hold mine. “ That is the most beautiful thing.”

I burned. A hot, roaring inferno throbbed and boiled somewhere deep down. Deeper than lust. More powerful than love. Something intrinsic changed within me, and I was unsure how to react, or even if I could.

“That is not a word,” I scoffed, staring at my champagne, wanting nothing more than to down it and reach for several others. I knew it would not touch that blazing fire inside, despite how much I craved it, even now.

It slipped from my grasp as Lamb plucked the flute from my fingers, bringing it to his lips, and slipping the drink down in a single, fluid motion. He placed the empty glass on the tray of a milling waiter, giving me a wicked smile. “Then I’ll just make it one.”

“Your arrogance is astounding.”

“One of my many charms.” Lamb winked, and it was devastating.

Never mind what I was wearing, half the women in the room probably paid me no mind after he had entered. Dressed head to toe in a beautiful, red three-piece suit, his blond hair swept back over his head, dark brown eyes deep and rolling, he looked like a blood-soaked angel, pristine and powerful, commanding attention and authority. For someone who liked to observe from the shadowy corners, this was a display like no other. I would worry about other women approaching him, except I did not have to. Where I went, his eyes followed, and where he went, so did mine. We were becoming quite the pair.

“Mr. Wolfe, what an honour it is to have you join us.” A man interjected himself between us, extending a hand with a large gold signet ring suffocating his thick finger.

Lamb, with a perfectly welcoming smile, presented his free hand into the air. It did not pair with the offered hand, and the man flashed a quick glance to me, to my waist, and the hand stitched there. Unwilling to move his hand around my waist, the other man quickly swapped palms and gave Lamb a fierce shake.

“Thank you for letting us in on short notice,” Lamb returned, his shrewd businessman persona fitting over him like a second skin. “I hope it wasn’t too much inconvenience.”

“For you, absolutely not.” The man beamed, and I figured out how we had gotten our invitations.

“Thank you, Raymond.” Lamb retracted his hand. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you have other guests to greet.”

“Oh, yes.” Raymond’s disappointment disappeared as quickly as it came, schooled behind a practised face. “Enjoy the party, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I can’t wait.”

Unwilling to let Raymond drag on the conversation any longer, Lamb ushered me forward, pushing us deeper into the milling crowd.

Without provocation, he leaned down, his warm breath in my ear. “That’s the curator of all these pieces. He manages an art gallery.”

“Oh yes, I forgot about the club’s avid interest in art,” I scoffed.

“We may not be interested, but that doesn’t mean others aren’t,” Lamb corrected, a soft nip of my ear shooting straight through my haywire nerves. My body was like a bungee cord, a scrambled mix of aroused and anxious. “Leverage is a great asset.”

Another of his many “charms.”

I scrubbed the distracting thoughts from my mind as we made our way into the densest part. People were not on top of each other or bumping into one another, but with Lamb plastered to my ass, it took a little manoeuvring and strategic planning to get by without knocking into someone and spilling their hundred-dollar glasses of bubbly.

Only as we were winding our way between a bundle of people and a few servers with trays of food and drink did I have to step back, swallowing the sliver of space between us. My ass pressed straight into Lamb’s crotch, and his hand squeezed painfully into the flesh of my hip.

“You must be happy to see me,” he joked, but his tone was bitter.

I scoffed, adjusting my leg, and simultaneously, moving the small knife holster tucked into the garter at my thigh. It was only a thin stiletto, but it was as much safety as I could smuggle wearing the thin lace number. There were not a lot of places to conceal things when your dress was the equivalent of a red doyley.

Lamb had not objected to my concealed weapon as much as he had objected to placing me in any danger whatsoever. Being armed, even if the intentions were that I would never use it, comforted him to some degree, but he made it clear that it would never leave its holster.

That was the plan. His plan.

“I assure you I want to be as far from you as possible,” I joked, leaning forward and pressing my chest into his.

His trained smile remained; however, his eyes darkened and a low guttural noise rolled from his lips. His fingers tightened on my ass, and I fought to hold back my gasp.

“I’ve told you before, babe ,” Lamb purred, enjoying the way that pet name made my lips purse. “You can’t run from me.” He leaned in close, his nose rubbing along the edge of my throat. “I won’t let you go.”

“Excuse me, miss.” A deep, rumbling voice sliced into our private pocket in the crowd, disrupting our intrepid moment.

It was familiar, but I was not the first to recognise it.

Lamb plastered against my side, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against my bare areas, once again warming my cool skin. He was a rock wall at my side, his hand a vice against my hip, pinning me tight against him.

I managed to turn just enough to see who had caught his attention.

Under the warm chandelier light, dressed head to toe in an abyssal black suit, with matching shirt and tie, not sparing even an ounce of colour in his attire was the trickster himself. His clothes absorbed every speck of light, like someone had sliced a section of the universe clean out in the shape of an ebony Adonis. But like yin and yang, his best accessory glowed brighter against his black skin—his bright golden eyes, otherworldly and beautifully haunting, richer than any rare ornament on display, fixed with amusement on us both. In a crowd of humans dressed to their best, the difference was vast. He was more akin to a god than a man.

“Charon.” Lamb’s voice was tight and clipped.

“It’s nice to see old friends at a party,” Charon mused, rubbing a finger and thumb under the dark growth beneath his chin. He towered over us both, his shoulders matching our width put together. His dark skin warmed from its rich black to a deep brown as the man who lurked in the shadows stood comfortably in the bright warmth of the ball.

“We share the same sentiment,” Lamb returned a polite smile, his human switch flipping on. He extended a palm, which Charon eagerly accepted.

“If anyone was to make me believe those lies, it would be you, Lamb.” Charon beamed, genuine but twisted joy bearing a bright, white-toothed smile.

Lamb did not bat an eye at the comment. “I didn’t see you on the guest list.”

“I’m never seen anywhere.” Charon glanced around the room, where guests continued to mingle, paying no attention to the beautiful, looming god. “That’s my whole shtick.”

Lamb did not join him in his perusal, and I suspected he had predicted this to some degree. Charon was the big bad of the underworld in the northern continent; to sway this many powerful people to look the other way was a testament to his frightening influence.

“Don’t look like that, beautiful.” A finger brushed against my cheek, and I jerked back into Lamb’s arm. Charon’s trigger finger was rough and calloused against my skin, the sensation foreign and fridged. “You’ll ruin all the effort you went to.”

Lamb’s hand flexed against my skin, but he made no move to retaliate. In fact, his own gaze flittered around the room, as if he had not noticed Charon’s action at all. His hand clinging tight to my hip told another story.

“With that being said …” Charon clapped his hands, pivoting towards me. “My date seems to have wandered away at some point.” He rested a hand against his solar plexus and bent in a deep ceremonial bow. “Will you honour this neglected man with a dance?”

Lamb’s head snapped like an owl, his eyes sharp like daggers, slicing straight through his veil of indifference. His expression was stone-cold, but his eyes were fierce and dangerous, a wave of broiling heat rolling from his aura like blue flames licking my skin. Something thrummed over my skin as his energy wrapped tight around me, snatching my breath, his eyes a dark void.

Charon’s eyes widened, his mouth strung into a feral smile that made my heckles rise.

I moved before I could think. My palm pressed into the soft warmth of Lamb’s cheek, stepping between the two men and blocking his line of sight. Lamb’s black eyes flickered straight down to me, and a burning tumultuous storm scorched my chest as I traced the flickering, subtle emotions rippling across his face.

“We cannot make a scene.” I smiled, doing my best to soothe him. “Not yet.” I pushed onto my toes, my heels helping me close the small height difference between us as I pressed my lips to his. I lingered longer than I needed to, hoping to steal some of that fire that stirred the stone giant inside. His lips melted into mine, and his muscles softened against my palm. “It is just one dance.”

I did not open my eyes until I dropped away, his taste lingering on my lips as I turned to face the problematic man in question. Whatever expression Lamb held would collapse my resolve, and I would be more than ready to derail my plans to make him happy.

“For a shadow, you are a tad dramatic.” I rolled my eyes, placing my hand in Charon’s waiting one. His hand was far larger than Lamb’s, and it engulfed my own as he led us towards the dance floor.

“What’s life without a little drama?” Charon chuckled, the noise trickling down my spine as we broke through the dense crowd into a wide-open space; an extensive orchestra played classical pieces as couples danced and bounced around the room in a pitiful display of elegance and nobility that had been lost in ages past.

I had not felt much for ballroom dancing and still cared for it little. But the academy’s strict compulsory lessons had done their job as I fell into position, my posture a little rusty but otherwise complementary as a song concluded.

To my surprise, Charon fell into step with ease as a new song began, and my muscle memory revived, and we both fell into seamless motion.

I was like a child in such a large man’s arms, easily turned and spun, his hardened hands holding onto my hips, fingers grazing my exposed scars. Hands that had committed more violence and wielded vaster control than I could hope to understand, and yet felt tender and gentle as he swept me through each turn. The presence of such a large player made me feel conscious, paranoid, and cautious all piling into one messy emotion.

“Looks like our dates are talking.” Charon smirked, eyes crinkling over my shoulder.

My gaze jumped up to meet his bubbling gold ones, and he shot a wink straight back before we leaned into a spin, his view swapped for mine.

At the edge of the clearing, Lamb’s eyes burned like molten lava. My skin blistered with fever and flame. Even so far away, his eyes were trained on me like a predator and I, the prey. Lamb’s mouth moved tightly as he stood next to another man in a suit, also looking our way.

The man was broad and bulky, not to Charon’s level, but it was easy to see a trained body even through a tight tuxedo. He had dark hair and light eyes, but he was too far to catch what colour.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charon wink again, and the ally Lamb was talking to rolled his eyes and returned an irritable scowl before turning away from us altogether.

Lamb’s gaze did not falter, and for a moment, trapped in those iron forges, I forgot whose arms I was in until a warm, spiced breath rolled over my neck.

“Tell me,” Charon purred, and I could feel his smile hidden over my shoulder. “What does Lamb know about your little plan?”

A jolt of panic flushed any lingering arousal out through my feet. My toes and fingers were cold and tingling as I became highly aware of whose mercy I was under.

I turned, catching his gold flickering eyes, alight with intrigue and amusement, and something else. Something deep and hidden beneath his expression, something I could not read.

Our plans had only been to confront my father and get the necessary evidence to have him arrested on United States grounds. His position was not as fortified, and his walls not as impervious on US soil; this was Charon’s territory, and my father had little hold here. I knew that the club would not let it end only there; a death sentence was hiding behind locked bars, and even if it was difficult, they would make it happen.

It was a good and solid plan. Everything was riding on being here tonight and catching him when he was most vulnerable. Tonight was all or nothing.

But I wanted more .

It was dangerous and selfish, and if Lamb knew what I was doing, he would shut me down before I could even try. He would call me foolish and take me home over his shoulder and never let me step foot outside again.

A part of me wanted that.

But a bigger part of me needed this.

I needed my plan to work. No matter the cost.

Charon reached forward, allowing his fingers to knowingly graze the skin of my thigh as they slipped ever so slightly under the hem of my dress. I tried to jerk back, but it was too late. Charon’s fingers tugged against the handle of my concealed knife, slipping it from its hold and snatching my only weapon. I opened my mouth to protest, but a warm finger pinned my words to my lips.

Charon’s Cheshire cat smile grew wide and sharp as he pressed something colder and heavier into my holster instead. His lips pressed against my cheek, his hand vanishing from my thigh, and then he stepped back with a cunning smile. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

I wanted to know the extent of his intel, know how much lurked behind that smile but, more importantly, I wanted to know how he knew. I wanted his source.

My eyes were locked on his dark, mysterious figure as he backed into the flurry of the crowd, smile unfaltering, and between a single beat of a couple dancing past, my vision blocked for half a second, the giant vanished, along with any hope of an answer.

I was left standing alone, the extra weight against my thigh holding me in place long enough for our song to end and another pick up into a jauntier tune.

Warmth swept against my back, and I knew who had saddled up uncomfortably close to my side. My goosebumps softened as he wrapped his arms around me, hands rubbing up and down the places Charon had touched. Despite the Grim Reaper’s lustful charm, he had been gentlemanly and, putting aside his parade under my dress, his hands had never drifted anywhere inappropriate.

Lamb’s gaze met mine, the inferno that had burned so feverish and fierce moments before was smothered by something else; his eyes were sharp and something akin to concern began to creep forward beneath the cracks in his mask. “Ash, remember to breathe.”

“What—”

“Alexandria,” a voice cut in, and it took a moment for me to realise that they were speaking to me. “Your presence is required.”

The surreal calm I had fastened tight to my mind began to slip. Panic and fear echoed in the distance like rolling thunder. It was not here yet, but it was coming.

A sharp, tight squeeze, so strong it was almost painful, wrapped around my hand. Lamb pressed down on the tingles, and the numbness swelled, and the cold leeched from my fingers. He did not look at me, his eyes tightly trained on the waiter, but I felt him with me. Felt his warmth roll over my skin, and slowly, the music my heart played on my ribs changed from a gallop to a steadier canter.

This was the finish line. The final battle.

This was not the time to falter.

Sucking in a steadier breath, I returned the tight grip, our hands softening into a steady hold with interlocked fingers.

“My name”—I let out a slow, whistling breath—“is Ash . And you will address me accordingly.”

The man, dressed in the impeccable attire of the wait staff, refused to address my outburst and instead nodded his head towards Lamb as if I had not even spoken a word. “You have been requested, as well, Mr. Black.”

Requested this time , not required .

Lamb’s hands tightened on my arms, hostile and defensive glowers sent to the waiter who acted none the wiser. I bit back my tongue before I thought to say anything else fruitless to the older man, and instead remembered what we were here for. What we were doing.

Lamb, on the other hand, looked ready to commit murder for even the suggestion of going anywhere other than home. It did not show on his face, of course; his mask was impervious steel as he held the older man’s weighted stare.

“Remember.” I turned back to him, pushing up onto my toes, chin to chin, as my words whispered over his lips. “This is our plan.”

My plan .

Guilt laced my lips as I kissed him, the taste bittersweet as calmness from his touch settled over my nerves. My heels touched the floor again, and I waited for him, watching the cogs go round behind those warm brown eyes.

They searched mine for a moment much longer than time would allow, before he took an arming breath. He did not relax, or soften beneath my touch. Instead, his muscles tightened as he pulled an arm around my waist and tucked me into his side.

“Lead the way.” Lamb gestured towards the dense crowd.

The waiter nodded, turned, and the crowd parted just enough for the man to get through, but not a single strand of hair, or hem of a tailcoat, touched him. In that gap, we followed behind.

I tried to walk confidently, but with the world falling out from underneath me, I feared I could not pull it off. This was what I wanted. What I needed. But no matter what I wanted, or needed, there was one thing I could not control. One thing that gripped me tight and would never let me go.

Fear.