Jules wrestled with her memories, trying to block them all out. She felt the music suddenly grow louder, the wind growing colder. Taking a moment to breathe, she gathered herself.
"Thatcher," she said, her eyes still lost in another world. "My last name is Thatcher."
Silas turned, pressing his back against the railing. Jules sipped her drink, her crystal eyes flickering from the stars back to him.
"You're dangerous, you know," Silas said, smiling softly as his eyes searched her face.
Jules normally felt perfectly in control when it came to men, but he matched her. That only intrigued her more.
"I didn't think danger scared you, Silas," she shot back, her lips curling into a smile over the rim of her cup.
Silas ran a hand through his hair and stared down at her. He looked at her like he was willing to risk it all—like it didn't matter what it took, he needed her. That only intrigued Jules more. She felt his hands inch toward her waist. Her breath hitched as she stepped back, almost startled. Her gaze traced his lips, his jaw, his chest. Then she stepped forward again.
They didn't need words. They were thinking the same thing.
Silas's house sat at the edge of the swamps, swallowed by moss and vines. The gray paint had nearly chipped away entirely. Holding a lantern in one hand and Jules's hand in the other, Silas led her down the firefly-lit path to his home. He pushed the door open, and she stepped into the darkness.
Candles flickered throughout the house, carefully placed. Jules wandered into the living room, where a sofa faced a roaring fireplace. She crossed the room and sat, letting the flames warm her chilled skin.
Silas leaned against the mantel, watching her. The amber light danced in his eyes, and Jules felt like she could melt if she let herself. Still, she remained in control.
"You're quiet," he said.
Jules lifted her gaze. The fire illuminated Silas's face, and she could see how badly he wanted her.
"I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous," Silas replied softly.
She huffed a breath and stood, crossing the room until she was close enough to feel the heat of the flames on her arms.
"You always say that."
"Because it's true," he murmured, his hands hovering just above her waist. "You think too much about what you're supposed to want."
Her stomach tightened.
"And you don't?"
Silas smiled slowly.
"No. I take what wants me back."
Jules leaned closer, her breath brushing his neck as she whispered, "And what if I'm just another bad decision?"
Her gaze held him captive. His fingers tightened around her waist.
"Then I'll enjoy every second of it."
For a moment, he hesitated, like he was giving her the chance to change her mind.
She wouldn't.
She felt the way he looked at her, the way his hands held her, the way his lips barely grazed her neck. He was already addicted.
Their lips met. His hands gripped her hips as her fingers tangled in his hair. Silas lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him. He carried her to the couch, laying her back against the cushions. She stared up at him as he hovered over her.
Sex had changed for Jules since she'd turned. It was one of the few ways she still felt alive. She was used to this with her victims. The last man she'd been with like this was Jasper—but she didn't care.
Silas's eyes darkened as he leaned over her, careful not to crush her beneath him. His lips found hers again as his hands fumbled with her dress. Jules pushed his head back and slipped the fabric off herself. He looked at her like she was the last woman on earth, frozen in anticipation.
She tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it toward the fire. His body was lean and firm, her fingers tracing his chest until she felt a rough mark beneath her touch. She looked down and saw the branding on the right side of his chest.
"We all have markings," Silas said quietly, following her gaze.
The symbol—a Greek omega—looked painful, sorrowful. Rogues. Branded by the Supremes as worthless.
The thought made Jules's chest tighten. What would have happened if she'd refused Lucian's help? Would she bear a mark like that? Would she even still be alive?
Her thoughts spiraled until Silas lifted her chin, pressing his lips to her neck and trailing kisses to her collarbone. He shifted them, settling back onto the couch as Jules found herself above him. Her hands braced against his chest as she reached for him.
Heat flooded her, whether from the fire or the moment she couldn't tell. Her body moved instinctively, a soft sound escaping her lips. Silas watched her like she was something sacred, then pulled her close, reclaiming control.
Afterward, Jules wrapped a quilt around her shoulders. Silas dressed quickly and returned to the fireplace, whiskey glass in hand.
"You know Lucian would tear the city apart if he knew this," he said, smiling.
"Then let him," Jules replied.
Silas liked that answer. He liked her fire. Her confidence.
What he didn't like was how deeply Lucian's hold on her ran—and he intended to change that.
Jules had grown so used to using her victims for this. That being said, the men deserved it, and she knew that. If there was one thing Lucian had taught, it was how to stalk her prey.