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Hades—according to the report the hounds gave me after they went to see him—wasn't surprised about the connection between Silas and me.

He didn't even blink when told that Silas had murdered me in a past life.

He was, however, pleased that I was finally showing signs of fulfilling my destiny. Insert eye roll here.

Unfortunately, the new information didn't help Hades unmask Silas. There wasn't any way for him to look into my past life and see who had murdered me. The God of the Dead only dealt with the dead. Duh. Even then, I was one of millions who had passed through his realm.

Which meant we had to go with the me-as-bait plan.

The hounds were not happy. We said our goodnights and parted ways, heading to our bedrooms. After I finished getting ready for bed, I saw the book on my bedside table.

The book Jake had thrown away because of something I said.

I forgot that I'd brought it back to my room with me.

Why had I done that? I guess my subconscious was planning an apology without consulting the rest of me.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered and pulled a silk robe over my lace nightgown.

The thing had feathers on the cuffs. Feathers!

Like a fucking boa's worth of them. I grabbed the book and marched out of my room, down the hall, and to a closed door.

As I lifted my fist, the sight of Jake's dejected face rose in my mind.

Sighing, I knocked. “What the fuck am I doing?”

Jake opened the door a few seconds later. He looked me over, a hopeful gleam entering his eyes, but then his stare landed on the book.

“Come on.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed.

Jake shut the door, then allowed me to drag him to the bed set against the far wall. It was simple, sturdy, and masculine. No frills or posters here. The frame wasn't even carved. Just solid wood. And the linens were cotton. And rumpled. And smelled like him.

Aw, fuck me. I mean, don't fuck me. This isn't about fucking. Shit. Stop thinking about having sex with him, Salina! This is supposed to be an apology.

I steeled myself and waved him into bed.

Jake went without a word, but he didn't lie down.

Instead, he sat up against the headboard.

Without meeting his stare, I pulled up his covers to drape his chest. Then I went around to the other side and climbed on the bed atop the covers.

I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't there for sex. And that clarity wasn't just for him.

Jake cocked his head at me.

“I never had kids. Not in any life. I'm not the mothering kind.” I looked sideways at him as I settled back against the headboard. “And I'm not into role-playing mama and baby. Let's get that clear right now. But maybe it's time I let a little whimsy into my life.”

“Whimsy?” Jake's deep voice made the words sexy. Which shouldn't have been possible but there it was—all sexy, hanging between us.

I had to clear my throat before I spoke. “Yeah. Fairy tales. I thought I might give them another go. I can't remember ever reading one.”

“Never?”

“Nope. I know some of the stories, of course. I've seen the Disney films. But I've never actually read a fairy tale. Considering that, it was wrong of me to judge you.”

“Is that an apology?”

“Whatever. Take it as you want.” I opened the book. “Which one do you recommend?”

Jake was silent for so long that I finally looked over at him. He was staring at me, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“What?” I demanded.

“You are softer than you seem. It's all an act. A shell. No, armor. This attitude of yours. You use it to protect yourself. Because you care too much.”

I stared at him and my stare shivered, eyelids fluttering. He was spot-on, and that wasn't just surprising, it was a bit terrifying. I felt bare. Armor shattered. Well, that wouldn't do.

I lifted my chin. “This is supposed to be an olive branch, not a therapy session. Stop inspecting my armor or I'll take another crack at yours.”

He snorted. “All right, Lina. It's enough that you know I know who you are.”

My throat went dry. I couldn't look away.

Those damn summer eyes sent out their siren's call again.

It would be so nice to let it go. Just exhale the trauma of my past and get rid of it.

But it wasn't that easy. I'd been trained.

Conditioned into mistrust. What did I know about Jake?

He was a supernatural guard dog with a love for fairy tales and a talent for kissing. That wasn't enough. Not yet.

“Don't call me Lina,” I muttered and looked down at the book. “Now, which one should I read to you?”

“You're going to read me a bedtime story?”

“Yes, asshole. Don't ruin the gesture.”

Jake chuckled, the sound soft and velvety.

It became a vibration that trickled over my skin.

I ignored it, but he was harder to ignore.

A glance turned into yet another long stare.

I'd never stared at a man so much and without awkwardness.

Jake made it feel natural for us to look at each other without talking.

And then he went and laughed. He was already handsome.

Very handsome. But a grinning Jake? That was enough to steal an angel's breath. Or a devil's.

I looked back at the book and found the table of contents. No more staring, Salina. Read the damn story and get out.

“My favorite is Rumpelstiltskin,” Jake said.

“Really?” I asked without looking up.

“Yes. I like how clever the girl is.”

“All right. Rumpelstiltskin it is.”

As I was flipping through pages, two men barged into the room. Cyrus and Lex rushed over to the bed, but then stopped at the foot and stared at us. Correction; they gaped at us.

“Yes?” I lifted a brow at them.

“Uh. We felt something weird from Jake. Tingly and bright but not sexual,” Lex stammered.

“That's called happiness,” I drawled. “I'm about to read Rumpelstiltskin. Do you two want to join us?”

They looked at each other. Then at me. They nodded.

Jake grunted and scooted closer to me. As the other two got in bed—Lex beside Jake and Cyrus beside me—Jake flipped the pages in the book, then tapped it.

I looked down at a beautifully painted picture of a little, bearded man sitting at a spinning wheel, spinning straw into gold. On the page opposite, the story began.

“On his way to town one day, the miller encountered the King,” I read. “Wanting to impress him, the miller said, 'I have a daughter who knows the art of spinning straw into gold.'” I glanced up and found all three men staring not at me but at the picture of Rumpelstiltskin.

I had just turned men into boys. And damn it, the armor around my jaded, withered heart started to crack.

I will not be a statistic, I said to myself. No Stockholm Syndrome for me.

But then I got lost in the story as well.