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He’s shirtless too, a pair of sweats slung low on his waist, but his dark eyes are sharp as they take me in. “You look like you’ve been running from the big bad wolf.”

I mean.

Yeah, sort of.

“Lex,” I say, trying to get air, “he’s lost his mind.”

Pace’s mouth tightens as he glances toward the door. “I’ve heard this happens lately.”

“Didn’t someone lock his door?” Straightening, I notice the way his eyes travel to where Lex tore my night dress. “Where’s Wicker?”

“Out doing something for Father.” He watches me carefully, eyes dipping to my throat as he ruffles the back of his hair. “Fuck. I was supposed to lock him in, but I fell asleep.”

I realize now how heavy his eyes look, a crease pressed into the side of his face from the piping on the arm of the couch. Footsteps echo on the other side of the door, and I stiffen. Lex is closer. A room away. My heart pounds, beating frantically against my chest. The footsteps are slow but heavy, and looking down, I can see his shadow stopping through the crack at the bottom of the door.

The doorknob rattles.

“Can I stay here?” I whisper, since Pace isn’t offering.

He’s staring at the doorknob with a tense expression. “I should take care of him.”

“Don’t go out there,” I say before he can reach for the knob, and the shame rushes inward when he looks at me, eyebrow arching.

Because he hears in my voice that I’m scared.

Scared of Lex.

Not of him.

“He could barge in,” I worry.

I know it’s a mistake before he even crosses his arms. “Maybe you’re right. If he overpowers me and gets to you, that’d be bad for everyone–even him.” Raising his chin, he peers down at me with those inky eyes. “You can stay here with me. For a price.”

It’s just trading one monster for the other–that much I know.

16

Pace

The whole thing was an accident.Father has us scheduled so tightly there’s barely time for sleep, let alone anything else. I long ago adapted to the necessity of catching a doze wherever I could, which is something that does, on occasion, kick me in the ass.

Tonight is one of them.

Wicker is going to fucking kill me.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I go to the monitors, searching. “Sit down.”

Deep below the wild anxiety, I won’t deny the moment is satisfying. The panicked girl in front of me, her chest heaving beneath that torn nightie, doesn’t seem to think I’m as big a threat as my deranged, sleepwalking brother.

Things are progressing nicely.

“You want me to sit.” Her eyes dart beside me, filling with dread. “In your chair? Again?”

I give her a deadpan look. “On the couch.”

She hesitates, waiting for me to sit first, for this process to begin, and fuck, it’s pathetic. One little week, one session with me, and she’s trained, willing to do whatever we want. But that’s the thing, it’s important to keep people on their toes, to never allow them to get comfortable.

People are willing to do a lot for comfort.