Conclave (Devil's Night, #3.5)

by Penelope Douglas

“I was there when she was five and eight and thirteen, so you remember where you and she started the next time you want to imply you have any more responsibility or love for her than I do,” he bites out. “My woman. Sit down.”

A world where there is no us can’t happen.”

I can’t fucking breathe without my little monster.”

“I love you.” I pause and then add, because I can’t help myself, “Mr. Fane.” “Oh, Jesus, fuck,” he grumbles and sits up. “I need a drink.”