Rain.
I sit in the backseat of Caiden’s car with Emma. My head filled with thoughts and my phone buzzing nonstop in my hand.
I don’t have to look. I know it’s him.
My body is so tuned to Rhysand now that I can feel his rage through the screen. And I’m sure in true Rhysand fashion, his texts are in that demanding, possessive way of his:
WHERE ARE YOU?
COME BACK TO ME.
RAIN! ANSWER THE GODDAMN PHONE!
A part of me—a weak, stupid part—wants to answer. To tell him I’m fine, so he doesn’t burn the city down looking for me.
But then I look at Emma and her hard glare, knowing she would stop me before I even got two words out. Her arm is around my shoulder, holding me like she could protect me from the men in my life.
In the driver’s seat, Caiden watches the road, driving smoothly through
