Author Note: The following has some mild sexual content.

  ***

  Dahlia

  As I walked home from Portia's office in a furious haze, even I couldn’t ignore how empty the streets were for this time of morning. On a day like today, even as the heat became more oppressive, I expected people to be crowding the narrow streets between Portia’s warehouse and my home. Instead, people were scattered about and hurrying as if they were trying to minimize their time on the streets.

  Odd, but I didn’t sense any danger like I had the night the Imms attacked.

  There was something else happening today—something I didn’t know about.

  When I reached my home, I intended to change into something cooler before heading to Mathy’s house to see if she knew what had people on edge. Instead, when I opened my front door, I paused in the doorway, hearing the unmistakable sound of splashing water and smelling my lavender soap wafting through the air.

  Someone was using my bath.

  I almost laughed at the realization. This had never happened before, and it seemed so strange to have someone break into my home to take a bath. Was it Simon? Elaine, maybe? What if this were a complete stranger?

  But also, what if this was someone dangerous?

  I closed the front door behind me with a soft click and went into my bedroom, the sounds of the water draining from the bathtub becoming louder as I drew closer to the washroom. I heard my bathroom drawers opening one by one as this intruder looked through them, but as I stepped further into the room, the sounds stopped.

  Around the room, my wardrobe doors were thrown open, and drawers from every table and dresser lay open, some with their contents spilling out. My various paintings and decorations had been removed from my green walls. Even my shoes had all been turned upside down as if someone had been looking inside each one. In places, my floorboards had been pulled up as if the person who broke into my home thought I might be hiding something there.

  And I had hidden some money there, but the money remained untouched.

  My eyes drifted to the hollowed-out windowsill beside my bed, where I'd hidden my swords and a few daggers under the wood there, and I found it untouched, much to my relief.

  Looking at my bed itself, I noted a single dark satchel, bursting at the seams with its contents, and a man’s clothes strewn over my blankets. Boots lay haphazardly at the foot of the bed, and various weapons sat on my bedside table. Two massive and dark swords leaned against the bed, almost out of sight. These all gave me some idea of who the intruder might be, and while I hoped it was the Reaper, I doubted he would come here in broad daylight.

  Which meant there was an Imm man in my washroom—a very naked Imm man, at that.

  At that moment, the door to my washroom opened wide, and a hulking figure stepped into the doorway to look out at me with a wide grin across his familiar face, wearing nothing but a small towel at his waist. His hair was dripping with water he hadn’t bothered to dry, probably because he’d been in a rush to confront me. The muscles of his broad chest rippled as he moved, and his tanned skin shimmered with droplets of water that begged me to lick them from his skin.

  He was deliciously tempting and oh-so-dangerous.

  “Hawthorne,” I greeted through gritted teeth as I forced myself not to look at the substantial bulge hiding beneath my pink towel at his waist, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Hawthorne eyed me with that mischievous grin as if enjoying my discomfort, before gesturing to his clothes on my bed, “My clothes needed mending, and I heard you’re a seamstress—thought you might need some money.”

  “Why would I need your money?” I furrowed my brows at the Imm, wondering what game he was playing now.

  “Well, I presume the Ferros fired you,” He shrugged, “So, now you’re jobless with no way to take care of yourself—no family money to speak of, right? At least, that’s what I’ve heard, but correct me if I’m wrong.”

  I pursed my lips as he started walking closer, watching his eyes darken as he explained in a low, controlled voice, “So, mend my clothes, and I’ll give you some money to tide you over, human.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be nice or if this was just another way for him to flaunt his power over me. Either way, it pissed me off.

  “How did you know that Portia fired me?” I asked, crossing my arms as I stood my ground despite the dwindling distance between us.

  Hawthorne stopped a few feet away from me and explained, “It was my doing. I gave Portia an ultimatum. She needed to get you to talk or get rid of you altogether, and if she didn’t do either, the repercussions would be costly for her. And I think I’m starting to understand you, human. I doubted you’d give up your Reaper friend so easily, so it was hardly a gamble to predict you’d return home this morning without a job.”

  I gritted my teeth at the way he called the Reaper my friend, but took some time to consider what else he'd told me.

  So, Portia had fired me to protect herself. She’d said as much, but she hadn’t explained what little choice the Imms had given her. Still, she could have at least pretended to put up a fight for what she once called her greatest asset.

  When I didn’t immediately respond, Hawthorne spoke in a softer voice, “I’m trying to help, human. Just mend my clothes.”

  I scoffed. Help? Imms didn't help without reason.

  “No, you’re trying to manipulate me,” I narrowed my eyes at him, “But I’m not so easily manipulated, Imm. I don’t need your help.”

  He looked at me like he doubted that very much, “Fine. Then do it as a favor instead—I’ll owe you.”

  “Why did you tear my room apart?” I asked, gesturing to all the open wardrobes and drawers.

  Hawthorne crossed his arms over his broad chest, “I’ll answer your questions while you work.”

  There was no use in arguing. If I wanted Hawthorne's explanation, I needed to play along, at least a little.

  With a sigh of resignation, I walked past him to the bed, grabbed his filthy trousers and tunic, and took them over to my small desk.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  As I sat down, I asked again, “Why did you tear my room apart?”

  Hawthorne didn’t speak right away, so I looked over to find him sitting on the edge of the bed with his dark eyes on my face. The towel was struggling to cover him now, stretching over his broad thighs. Part of me hoped it would fall open and reveal what lay under the fabric.

  I felt my cheeks warm at where my mind had gone and forced my eyes back to Hawthorne’s face to find him smirking at me, “Like what you see, human?”

  I turned back to the tunic in hand and snapped, “Just answer my question, Imm.”

  He chuckled at my reaction and admitted, “I was looking for evidence, of course.”

  “What kind of evidence?” I asked in a mild voice that barely contained the panic growing inside me.

  “The kind that ties you to the Reaper,” Hawthorne explained before adding, “While I didn’t find anything of that nature, I did find some…unusual…pieces that require some explanation on your part, human.”

  “Oh?” I could hardly breathe as I looked down at the fabric in my hand, not really seeing it as I managed to ask, “Like what?”

  “You aren’t working,” Hawthorne pointed out.

  With a frown, I forced my attention to his shirt, quickly finding several holes in the grimy fabric. Hawthorne watched me closely as I pulled out my needles, did my best to match the thread color, and started to mend his shirt.

  When I finally started sewing the last hole—this one along the shoulder seam—Hawthorne dumped out his satchel onto my bed. The sound of clattering bottles against metal caught my attention, and I turned to find him righting several vials of Imm poison from my supply. They’d fallen out on top of what looked to be a ring of keys—some iron and others evemant.

  I hardly noticed the keys. No, my attention was on the poison.

  Poison that humans were forbidden from possessing.

  I inhaled sharply, the sound catching Hawthorne’s attention. He flicked his dark eyes at me before lifting the golden headband that had been a gift from Portia. I cocked my head at it, eyes meeting Hawthorne’s as he asked, “How the fuck did you get your hands on a Harper heirloom?”

  I eyed the headband with suspicion, “What the hell is a harper?”

  He snorted a laugh, and given the stunned expression on his face that soon followed the sound, he hadn’t expected to laugh at all. So, he cleared his throat and explained, “The Harpers are a Mirnen family—an original family—and this headband belongs to them. In fact, I happen to know it’s been missing for about fifty years now—stolen from General Harper’s office, of all places.”

  “I don’t know who that is,” I raised an eyebrow, “And I’m certainly not fifty years old, so if you’re about to try to blame me for stealing it, try again.”

  Hawthorne considered this for a long moment before only nodding once and saying, “Fair enough, but I want to know where you acquired it.”

  “Gift from an admirer,” I lied easily, “I don’t remember which one, unfortunately—probably human, though. I don’t have many Imm admirers—you know, because I'm nothing like Imm women.”

  It was a jab at the man for insulting me before, but he hardly seemed to care.

  “Hmm,” Hawthorne ran his eyes over my face and mused, “I get the sense your memory fails you a lot when people try to question you.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond before he gestured to his tunic and snapped, “If you want to be paid, keep working, human.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him but returned to my work as I explained, “I don’t need your money, you know. You obviously know I have some stored away, and I can get work—”

  “Portia seemed to think you’d be unemployable—blacklisted across Firen,” Hawthorne cut in, sounding more concerned than amused this time.

  My stomach twisted at the reality I’d tried not to think about, but I said only, “Then I’ll leave Firen.”

  But I wouldn’t leave Firen—not unless I had no other choice.

  Hawthorne watched me work in silence for some time before turning to the other items on my bed. I heard the clinking of the vials of poison and tried not to tense when he asked, “Do you know what these are?”

  I glanced at him and shrugged, unwilling to admit anything about the poison. While he held only three vials, I had no doubt he found my entire supply—a supply my father left for me as a precaution many years ago. I’d finally had the need to tap into that supply after our falling out. And if Hawthorne found the vials, I’d soon have none.

  It was only a matter of days—five maybe—before the poison would wear off, leaving me at greater risk of exposure.

  “Do you know the punishment for possessing Garrow’s Nectar—especially in such large quantities?” Hawthorne asked in a low, dangerous voice.

  Again, I shrugged, refusing to answer as I struggled to contain my rising panic.

  Hawthorne rose to his feet, and I tensed when he stepped forward to loom over me. I didn’t look at him until he reached out to grab me gently by the jaw, turning my head to force me to look up at him as he asked, “What are you doing with the poison, Dahlia?”

  His dark eyes watched me with calm caution, but I sensed Hawthorne’s emotions starting to boil within him. It wasn’t fury—not exactly. Again, he seemed concerned, maybe even worried about me.

  I bit my bottom lip as I considered my answer, and his eyes moved to my lips to watch their movement. My pulse quickened until I finally replied, “I’m not hurting anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve never used it on an Imm, and I have no plans to.”

  The truth—a powerful tool when one was under such close scrutiny.

  And Hawthorne sensed my honesty, relaxing almost in an instant and releasing his grip on my face.

  He lowered his voice and agreed, “Yes. And you won’t use it on anyone. I’m taking it—all of it—and you will never mention the poison to anyone. Understand, human?”

  I blinked up at him once before nodding several times in agreement.

  I thought he would step back to leave me to my mending work, so when Hawthorne started to reach for my hips, I stiffened in surprise.

  I started to pull away, and he gripped my hips to force me to still as he ordered, “Be still. There’s something else I need.”

  When his fingers went to my waistband, I inhaled in anticipation—of what, I didn’t know. Our connection was doing strange things to my hormones, and it didn’t help that he was almost entirely bare before me.

  But he stopped his searching when his fingers clasped the hilt of my evemant dagger, and I realized he hadn’t meant to touch me at all. No—he was after the dagger all along. I tried to pull back, but a firm hand on my leg kept me rooted in place as he pulled the dagger free from my belt.

  The gray blade shimmered in a faint rainbow of colors as he drew it out into the light of the room, and he stepped back with a deep sigh, “Yet another thing you shouldn’t have, human. I was feeling merciful, but maybe I should punish you, after all.”

  I drew a shallow breath as I returned to the mending, now moving on to his trousers as I explained, “I’ll admit—that one I stole from Portia, but only because she was dangling the damned thing in front of me like a carrot to try to incentivize me to track down the Reaper.”

  “More thieving, then—like when you were a child,” Hawthorne chuckled at me, “Do you remember what punishment I threatened you with?”

  I stiffened, almost pricking a finger as I stitched up the single hole in the trousers, but answered almost automatically, “You said you’d take my hand.”

  “Maybe both,” Hawthorne murmured as he tossed the dagger onto the bed with the rest of the contraband.

  When the silence grew between us, I asked the question I’d wanted to ask for weeks, “You like to threaten me, but do you think you could actually hurt me, despite this connection between us?”

  I swallowed and admitted in a low, rasping voice, “Because I’m not sure I could, if our roles were reversed.”

  Hawthorne’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he held out a hand, “My clothes?”

  I gripped the material and held it out to him, still waiting for an answer that never came.

  Instead, Hawthorne untied the towel from his waist to let it fall to the ground before stepping into his trousers. I averted my gaze with a sharp inhale and a curse, turning back to my table and waiting for him to dress. But I’d seen enough of his massive cock to know that it was hard, his desire now painfully obvious.

  I heard him chuckling behind me, but I ignored him, pressing my legs together to settle the sudden need I felt in my core.

  My desire for this man would soon threaten to control me if I wasn't careful. I needed to keep a level head when it came to Hawthorne.

  I kept my eyes averted until finally, he said, “Come, Dahlia. There’s something I need to show you.”

  That piqued my interest. “Where—what is it?”

  Hawthorne threw his satchel over his shoulder, making the bottles of poison clink together within. He hesitated to answer, but only for a few seconds, before uttering a single sentence that sent a surge of fear rushing through my body.

  “We caught the Reaper early this morning.”

  Pain bloomed in my chest as I forced aside the questions about the Reaper’s welfare. No. I needed to tread carefully now. The Imms couldn’t believe I cared about the Reaper. If he was in their custody, there was nothing I could do about it—not without putting myself at risk.

  But Hawthorne heard my heart’s rapid beating, revealing my concern. His eyes narrowed as I asked, “What does that have to do with me?”

  The Imm cocked his head at me, eyes still narrowed, and scoffed, “I think we both know that he has everything to do with you, human.”