He made her grin like a loon. He soothed the snarling beast inside her that bristled at kindness or pity and kept her jokes hard, her tongue sharp. He could get close like Perry and Saba did, maybe even closer—his touch did that. Something about his warmth or the intimacy of shared breath and quiet conversations in the dark softened her and let him edge through.

It was dangerous. That’s what the hairs on the back of her neck were telling her.

She trusted her friendship and physical safety to Saba, Aedan, Lizzy, Wynn, and Effie, but only that. To Perry she entrusted the few feelings she allowed herself, but that was all.

She’d only intended to entrust her body to Knigh, but somehow it had gone further. The way she’d been unable to resist him … The way his taut control and discomfort had eaten at her … The way his distress after berserking had been unbearable and driven her to try and comfort him …

Damn it, even before she’d given him her body, she should’ve realised it had gone past that.

Trusting one thing to a person was safe. Trusting her all to someone? No. She’d done that with Evered and he’d broken the trust, himself, and what had been left of her.

Not again. Never again.

Even if she didn’t want Fitz, he was a necessity. She had to endure it—a bitter antidote to the sweet poison that was Knigh Blackwood.

“I must do this.”

Nodding, she pulled her necklace from under her shirt, letting it rest noticeably over her chest. Fitz had given it to her back when he’d first made her his. She’d never really cared for the design—bright yellow gold with a massive garnet in the centre. Far too gaudy. But she’d got rid of all Avice’s jewellery, except for Evered’s ring, and this was the first thing anyone had given Vice.

Like a magpie with a shiny object, it wouldn’t fail to catch FitzRoy’s attention.

Cinnamon & Soap

Head up, shoulders back, she entered FitzRoy’s cabin.

“Vice?” FitzRoy looked up from the papers in his hands, eyebrows raised. “I’m busy.”

Stomach twisting, she closed the door behind her, leaning on it.  She kicked back that soft, weak voice, closing it behind a door in her mind and leant on that, too.

I don’t want this.

“My darling Fitz, surely you’re not too busy for me?” Smiling, she cocked her head and stalked around the table towards him, every movement mechanical. “You shut yourself in here all the time nowadays—aren’t you lonely?”

His mouth flattened, but his hazel eyes grew dark, watching her. “I don’t get lonely.”

She perched on the table, knees brushing his. “But it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Was ‘busy’ going to be his answer to everything?