NOLA
The front door thuds shut behind us, the sound echoing through the silent foyer like a gunshot, and I can still feel the heat of Rhett’s hand on my lower back, marking me even though he’s finally let go. I don't head for the stairs like a good little girl, instead, I turn toward the kitchen because my throat is parched from crying and screaming at him, but I freeze when I see her.
Selene is draped over one of the barstools, wearing a silk robe that definitely wasn't in her suitcase when she arrived, and she’s holding a glass of amber liquid, watching us with a bored sort of amusement that makes my blood boil.
"Quite a late night for a schoolgirl, isn't it?" she asks, her voice like honey poured over shards of glass, and she doesn't even look at Rhett, she just keeps those cat-like
