Colt.
The air in Rain’s apartment is different from the mansion. It’s smaller, warmer, and currently thick with a tension so sharp it could draw blood.
Rhysand is standing by the door, his frame blocking the light, his jaw set in a line of pure, delicious fury. He’s been fuming since we left the hospital, a silent storm driving us home. At one point I thought he’d crash the car just to spite me but he took us home safely.
A home where he has no f*****g say.
“I’m not comfortable with this, Rain,” Rhysand says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He looks around the living room as if the very walls could catch fire. “Him sleeping here with you? He belongs in the hospital, or at the very least, his own estate where there are people actually qualified to handle... whatever this is.”
I let
