Gleam (The Plated Prisoner, #3)

by Raven Kennedy

Then, with a raindrop on my cheek that might have spilled from my eye, I open the door and walk into the inn. And I die, just a little bit more.

Truths are like spices. When you add some in, it means you have more layers to digest. You get a taste of things you were missing before. But if you add too many, life can become unpalatable.

Never again will I be the clay that he molds in his hold. I’m going to shape myself.

I’m far more protective of what lies beneath my skin. What’s inside of me—my mind, my heart, my spirit—those are the things I want to keep from his sight.

I know he’s full of shit, and it’s certainly not gilded.

No matter how many times I try to lie to myself, no matter how many times I try to shove him out of my mind, the truth is in the blush of my skin and the ache of my chest. This male with the bottomless eyes has already snared me.

The ticking time between us is marked only by the beats in my chest, one that seems to match the thrum of the pulse in his neck.

“Tell a truth for a truth,” he murmurs, voice pebbling my skin. “Or keep a secret for a secret,” I finish.

We all have our edge, Auren. One day, you’re going to find where yours is. I found it, I want to tell him. I found my edge.