“That last year I was there, amongst the data I had collected, I found my own file.”
Oh.
Oh.
“I’d been bred to an underage girl by a man in his thirties,” he stated matter-of-factly. “She killed herself after giving birth to me, and I was put into the home. My sire—”
She held her breath.
“—was a Syndicater at the time.”
Speechless.
She was stunned speechless.
At her shocked silence, another dark chuckle left him. “I am the prince of this hell in every way. Fitting, isn’t it?”
She couldn't say a word. She didn't know what word to say. So she lay her head on his chest, her heart thudding as his beat at a steady pace, pieces of this man falling into place.
Chapter twenty-fiveLyla
The sun was setting in the sky as they walked down the city street. In her green sweater and navy jeans and white sneakers, her vivid read hair falling to the upper half of her back, she walked tucked under the arm of the most lethal man she knew. He was in his black jeans and a black sweater, his hands in the gloves he always wore on the outside, his face exposed to the cold wind.
And that in itself let her know exactly what they were going to do.
They said you only saw the Shadow Man’s face right before you died, and with the exception of herself, she doubted it was false. And since they were going to see the bald man, she knew his time was up.
Still processing everything she’d learned about him that morning, Lyla took in the sight of the city as they moved by. Gladestone was surprisingly busy with people walking down the pavements, cars honking away in the traffic, street vendors selling things on the sides. It was loud and populated and she didn’t understand how a city like this had no idea of what went on within it. Or maybe it did. Maybe they all knew and nobody cared.
Dainn guided them to the left, into a narrower street that opened up into a quieter, more industrial area. There were still people milling about, workers going in and out of the factories, some of them stopping to give her a onceover before looking at the man at her side, and quickly looking away. That didn’t surprise her one bit. Even without the shadows and the darkness, there was something inherently dangerous about him, something that warned the other person not to look too close before they couldn’t look at all.
She tightened her arm around his waist, glancing up at him as they kept moving. “Why didn’t we take the car?”
His eyes were vigilant even as he appeared casual, clocking everything and everyone. “It would’ve been too noticeable.”
“And we aren’t noticeable?” she laughed, shaking her head at the idea. He might not have been but she was attracting attention and they both knew it.
“Oh, but we’re just two lovers out for a stroll,” he informed her, his lips twitching.
She liked him like this. She didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d shared so much of himself with her or that he was genuinely enjoying getting her vengeance or maybe both, but he felt lighter with her, and he was definitely more handsy than he had been. His hands had taken up residence on some part of her body or another all through the day and it felt newer, the way he touched her without sexual intent now. It felt… domestic almost, if they could ever be used with that word.
Taking a turn to the left, to a much more isolated part of the industrial area, Lyla looked around as any signs of inhabitation fell away.
"Why aren't there any people here?"
His eyes still sweeping the area, he answered. "Because this whole block is owned by a dead industrialist. His industries are collecting dust so to speak, and this area used to be the prime spot for his business. Now, lowlives use it sometimes."
He wasn't a lowlife, so she didn't understand why he was using it. But she kept the thought to herself as they headed to one of the factories right at the end of the walkway. The sun was almost close to setting, the sky a dark purple, and in the abandoned ghost block, she felt herself shudder. His arm tightened around her immediately, and the weight on her chest eased enough for her to breathe. No one would get to her, not with him right there.
She wanted to someday be able to protect herself, wanted to learn self-defense, but both Dainn and Dr. Manson were right about her needing more time.
'You have all the time in the world, Lyla. Heal yourself first.'
She needed to heal her mind enough not to freeze before she could fight, and she was a long way from that. But Dainn had promised her he would get her the perfect trainer who was her size when she was ready, and she trusted that. He had gotten her psychological help when she'd needed it without even knowing. He would get her physical help too when she was ready. She had asked why he wouldn't train her himself, since he was so well-versed in martial arts, and he'd just given her a heated look, letting her know exactly why for the next hour.