Page 20 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

Shoving papers into drawers, straightening her books. Her small trashcan is in her hand, and she periodically shoves random things—a bauble, a paper, something that appears to be a seasonal decoration—into it. Her sheets are off the mattress, balled up in the center of the room. Comforter thrown on the floor. All her clothes are stacked in a pile on top of her nightstand.

Maybe cleaning was the wrong word. She’s doing more harm than good.

And she’s sniffling.

The whole room feels different. Like I left her one way, and now I’m coming back to someone new.

“Margo.”

She drops the trash and spins toward me.

Ah, my heart gives a nasty thump.

Her face is bruised. A few butterfly bandages are taped over stitches across her forehead—that gash was the source of a lot of blood. She probably has more injuries, but those are the only visible ones.

That, and the expression on her face.

I step toward her, and she steps back.

That’s not how this normally goes.

“You don’t think I had anything to do with this, did you?”

Her eyes widen, then skip to the window. I can’t help but notice it’s locked. A message if I ever saw one. I want to howl. Instead, I keep approaching. Her back bumps against the bookshelf—the very same one I found the spying figure on—and she freezes.

I relish the heat of her body, but I don’t touch her. I stop just a hair’s breadth away and meet her dark eyes. There are hours unaccounted for after the accident, and I would kill to give them back to her.

I force myself not to trace her jaw. To inhale the scent of her shampoo—because even that is off, tainted by the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

She’s breathing heavy, like me being in her room has stolen her oxygen.

This isn’t you, I almost say. This girl is scared—but she doesn’t need to be scared of me.

“Are you angry?” she blurts out.

Am I angry? “Furious.”

Now, I do give in to temptation. I drag my finger across her lip. It’s split, a little swollen, but she doesn’t move when I press on her lower lip, parting her pretty mouth.

Her tongue darts out, touching my thumb, and I grin. I’m getting harder by the second, but I think Margo knows what she does to me.

I lean down.

“I thought you might be happy to see me,” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “Caleb…”

“Matt told me where to find you. He’s a computer whiz—I know, he doesn’t seem like it—but he…”

Her whole face has drained of blood. I’ve never seen her so pale.

“Matt Bonner told you where to find me?”

I squint at her. “Yeah. He’s actually been helping me try to figure out who was behind the mermaid…”

She grabs my hands. “Caleb, stop.” She takes a deep breath, like she’s afraid to say this out loud. “Matt was the one who took me.”

My stomach bottoms out.