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Did you look between her thighs? Because if I were a witch hiding in plain sight, that’s definitely where I’d keep mine.

Gideon needed to get Harrow’s voice out of his head, because the thought of being between Rune’s thighs made himstop halfway up the stairs, overcome. He pinned her against the wall, breathing hard as he debated unhooking her legs from around his waist, dropping to his knees, and going down on her right here in the stairwell.

No,he thought as Rune nipped his throat, struggling to regain his senses.You don’t even know what she likes.

She might not even know what she likes.

Gideon still didn’t know if she’d ever done what they were about to do.

Start in the bed,he told himself, bringing her the rest of the way to the second floor, where he opened the door to his apartment and carried her inside. He would start there, and if he proved himself worthy of her, maybe this could be more than a game. Not just flirting and kissing and courting, but a life shared. Maybe Gideon could have all of her.

But would she want all of him?

He was terrified to even hope for it.

Start in the bed.

FORTY-EIGHTRUNE

RUNE HAD WORKED ITall out in her head on the way up the stairs.

She was the Crimson Moth. The girl who secretly saved witches from the purge. To keep saving them, she needed a permanent source of intel. And Gideon Sharpe was that source.

Sheneededhim.

It had nothing to do with the way he growled her name against her throat. Or the way he worshipped her with every stroke of his hands. Or the fact that he thought she was most beautiful when she was a huge mess.

Rune needed to give in to this deadly attraction because it was the best way to make her worst enemy believe, with no more doubts, that she wasn’t a witch. That she had nothing to hide.

Tonight, she would put Gideon’s suspicions to death forever.

Tonight, she would win this game once and for all.

These are the things she told herself as Gideon carried her into his apartment. She had to. Because if she didn’t, a deeper truth would come roaring to the surface. A truth that asked:What if?

What ifshe wasn’t a witch and he wasn’t a witch hunter?

What ifthis didn’t have to be pretend?

Inside, he set her down and shut the door behind them. In the momentary absence of him, Rune took in her surroundings. Pale light from the streetlamps spilled through the windows, silhouetting the spare furnishings. Rune had the strangest urge to turn on the lights and commit every shelf, floorboard, and piece of furniture to memory. As if every object might tell her a secret about him. Rune wanted to know them all.

Gideon’s hand found hers. He tugged her through a door and into the room beyond. When Rune sighted the dark outline of a bed and realized where they were, her stomach tightened. She felt like she always did before a heist: equal parts nervous and excited.

He kissed down her throat, his fingers working the clasp at the top of her riding jacket. “Promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind …”

Arching her throat, she buried her hands in his hair. “I won’t change my mind.”

“But if you do …”

“Gideon.” Close to his ear, Rune whispered: “Less talking.”

He smiled against her skin.

His hands made quick work of her buttons, and her jacket loosened. Peeling it off her, he dropped it on the floor. Rune wore only a bralette underneath, the white lace illuminated by the pale light from the street.

At the sight of it, Gideon made a rough sound in his throat. Her whole body shivered in response. Rune tugged the hem of his shirt out from where it tucked into his trousers and slid her palms underneath, skidding up his warm, solid chest.

He worked at the button of her leather riding leggings as he kissed the hollow of her throat, the line of her collarbone, the skin through the lace of her bralette. Pulling her deeper under his spell.