Chapter 66
Sebastian
Marcus reappeared with the umbrella—a large black thing—and I took it without comment, popping it open and starting across the roof toward where Lirael sat. The rain was coming down harder now, turning the tiles slick, but I crossed the distance with steady, purposeful steps.
When I reached her beam, she was still sitting there with that book clutched to her chest like a shield, water streaming down her face. I held the umbrella over both of us, cutting off the rain. She looked up at me, her silver eyes wide and wary.
"Who gave you permission," I asked, my voice dangerously soft, "to sleep on my roof?"
She stared at me for a long moment, and then, with careful precision, said, "You told me to stay up here. You said I could stay here for the rest of my life."
The reminder hit like a punch to the gut, because of course I had said that, had told Marcus in the monitor room to let her stay up here forever. She'd heard it somehow, had taken my angry words literally, had called my bluff in the most spectacular way possible, and now I was standing here in the rain with an umbrella like some lovesick fool.
"Get down," I said, the words coming out rougher than I'd intended. "Now, Lirael. Before you fall and break your neck."
She hesitated, then shifted her weight and stood up on the beam with effortless grace, the book tucked under one arm. I held out my hand to help her down, and after a long, considering look, she took it, her fingers cold and wet against mine as I guided her across the beam and onto the more stable surface of the main roof.
We stood there for a moment, still under the umbrella, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her rain-soaked body. She looked like a drowned cat, bedraggled and defensive, and I wanted to shake her and kiss her and lock her in a room where she couldn't keep finding new ways to torment me, all at the same time.
"You're going to catch cold," I said.
She laughed, a short, bitter sound. "That would solve a lot of your problems, wouldn't it? If I just conveniently died of pneumonia up here, you wouldn't have to deal with me anymore."
"If I wanted you dead," I said, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "you would be dead. Don't mistake my restraint for weakness, little moon."
She held my gaze, and I saw something flicker in her eyes—fear, maybe, or anger, or some complicated mixture of both—but she didn't look away.
"Come on," I said finally, turning toward the access ladder. "We're going inside."
She followed, and we made it to the edge of the roof, to the spot where the ladder descended back into the house. I was just reaching for the first rung when she spoke again.
"You wanted to talk," she said. "About what I want. About my choices." She pulled her wrist free from my grip. "So let's talk. But not in your bedroom, and not with you looming over me like I'm prey."
I turned to face her fully and studied her expression in the fading light. She was serious—actually serious about setting terms, demanding control over how we interacted. It was absurd, really, but there was something in the set of her shoulders and the steadiness of her gaze that made me pause.
But I had a better idea. A much better idea.
"No," I said slowly, and watched surprise flicker across her face. "We're not going to talk. Not yet." I stepped closer, backing her toward the edge of the roof where the drop fell away into empty air three stories below. "You've had ten days to think about what I asked you. Ten days to decide whether you want to be my woman or continue being my pet. So tell me, Lirael—what's your answer?"
She glanced down at the drop behind her, then back at me, and I saw her throat work as she swallowed. "My answer," she said, voice steady despite the fear I could smell rolling off her, "is that I'm going to escape."
I felt a slow smile spread across my face. "You think you can?"
"You can keep me locked up for a while," she said, lifting her chin in that stubborn way that made me want to kiss her and throttle her in equal measure. "But you can't keep me forever. Eventually, I'll find a way out."
The laugh that escaped me was genuine, delighted, because this—this—was why she was different from everyone else. Anyone else would have been begging by now, would have been trying to appease me, but not her. Never her. She looked me dead in the eye and told me she was going to escape, and damned if I didn't admire her for it.
"Alright," I said, and saw confusion flicker across her face. "I'll give you a chance. One chance to run." I pulled out my phone and checked the time. "Starting at eight o'clock tonight, you have twenty-four hours to make it out of the city limits and into the wilderness beyond. If you can get far enough away to make a video call from outside the city boundaries, you win. I'll let you go completely."
She stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "And if I lose?"
"If you lose," I said, stepping closer until there was barely any space between us, "you become mine. Fully, completely, in every way. You'll sleep in my bed every night, you'll stop fighting me at every turn, and you'll accept that you belong to me."
I saw her weighing it, calculating risks and odds, and I knew the exact moment she realized what I'd noticed earlier today—the moon phase calendar on her bedside table, the way she'd been marking off days, the tension in her shoulders that suggested tomorrow meant something important to her.
"You need to be somewhere tomorrow night," I said softly. "Don't you? Something you have to do during the full moon?" Her eyes widened fractionally, confirming my suspicion. "So here's your chance, little moon. Win, and you're free to do whatever it is you need to do. Lose, and you're mine forever."
"How do I know you'll keep your word?" she asked.
"Among my kind," I said, reaching out to cup her face in my hand, "we don't make promises with words. We seal them with something more binding." Before she could react, I leaned in and kissed her, hard and possessive and claiming, pouring every ounce of my obsession into that single point of contact. She went rigid under my mouth, but she didn't pull away, and I felt her understanding dawn—this was a contract, sealed in the old way, and neither of us could break it now.
When I finally pulled back, I licked the blood from the corner of my mouth where I'd deliberately bitten her lip, marking her with my taste and scent. "The contract is sealed," I said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Eight o'clock tonight, the game begins."