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She rolled her eyes. “I’ll make it easy on you and start with the basics. What’s your favorite color?”

A pause. She thought for sure he wouldn’t answer, when suddenly he told her, “Green.”

“Mine’s yellow.”

“I didn’t ask.”

She rolled her eyes. “Quit being an ass.”

A brief pause. And then: “Why yellow?”

“It’s happy and bright,” she said.

“It’s the color of piss.”

“It’s the color of sunflowers and lemons—”

“And piss.”

When she scowled over her shoulder, he scowled back. “You already made that abundantly clear,” she huffed. This wasn’t going well at all. Maybe it was a good thing he was such a jerk; it’d kept her from jumping his bones this long, and she counted on it lasting.

But she was starting to learn that she had a thing for toxic assholes. Not that she’d ever been with one—she had never let herself get anywhere close to that point, though they seemed to be the type she was drawn to the most.

Every man Shay had slept with had been…careful with her. As if she were made of porcelain. Which was nice, at first. Romantic, even. But it hadn’t taken long to discover that gentle wasn’t what she wanted. She would’ve communicated this, had she felt any desire to pursue longer relationships with those men. But her goal was to sever all ties to her city. Yveswich would not be her future—she wouldn’t let it. And it was for this same reason that she’d never taken a Darkslayer to her bed. Darkslaying wasn’t in her future, either. She may be a hellseher, but she didn’t fit in with that crowd.

Something told her Roman would give her what she wanted in bed, without her having to spell it out for him—

She cut off the thought before she could continue with this ridiculous, toxic fantasy. What was wrong with her? The heat was getting to her head! Roman Devlin was completely and utterly off-limits, even for one night.

One night that she would probably never forget.

It took her a minute to realize that she was scowling at the man troubling her thoughts—and another minute to realize he was watching her with a frown.

“What’s twisting your panties, Miss Thief?”

“You,” she blurted. Well, it was the truth.

The smile that stretched across his face reminded her of a baring of teeth—a shark’s mouth.

“You are so annoying.” She trudged along, leaving him behind.

Silence fell again. She debated asking him another question, but decided against it. He’d probably just say something stupid or mean. As stupid as his shirt, or as mean as the mug he constantly wore.

“Why’d Anna leave, anyway?”

Shay twisted the straps of her backpack, the fabric damp with sweat. “She didn’t leave. She was abducted.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m not in the mood for your assholery and farfetched conspiracy theories. I know my sister better than anyone, and she never would have left me.”

“Sounds like you trusted her a whole lot.”

“I still do.”

“Trust is dangerous. It gives the other person power over you. Better to be your own support; at least you can count on yourself.”

“For the last time, Shadows, she did not leave me.” If she’d had even the slightest shred of doubt, the information Priscilla had given them had wiped it away. Anna had come here with three men and a strange, blue-haired convict—that didn’t sound like her at all.