BLAZE
Jealousy?
I don’t f*****g do jealousy.
Possessive? Sure. I’ve been that. I know the heat of it, the sharp, primal instinct that makes me want to sink my teeth into something just to mark it, just to say mine. I know the satisfaction of keeping what’s mine under my hand, under my control, where no one else can touch.
But this?
This slow, festering thing curling up inside my ribs, rotting in the pit of my stomach, tightening around my throat like a noose?
I don’t do that.
Jealousy is for the weak.
"You're frowning," Luther says, not even looking at me.
I don’t answer. Just roll my knife between my fingers, the cool metal biting into my skin.
"And sulking," he adds, voice laced with amusement.
I exhale through my nose, sharp and slow. "I don’t sulk."
"Mmm." He drags the
