Back at Dorian's apartment the silence is suffocating. He paces the length of the living room, movements too controlled, too precise. I sit on the couch cleaning blood from under my nails with a wet cloth.
He stops pacing and turns on me, voice ice.
"You could have died."
I don't look up from my hands.
"But I didn't."
His jaw tightens. He crosses the room in three strides and stands over me.
"You disobeyed me."
Now I look up. My eyes flash.
"I don't obey you. I'm not your property."
The fight explodes from there. Dorian's voice rises for the first time since I've known him.
"You're suicidal. You walked into an obvious trap because your pride wouldn't let you admit I was right."
I stand. Get in his face.
"You're trying to control me the same way everyone in my life has tried to control me."
"This isn't about control."
I laugh in his face. Sharp and bitter.
"I almost killed a vampire tonight."
"You got lucky."
"Luck had nothing to do with it."
He steps closer, voice dropping to something dangerous.
"If we'd been five minutes later, Lucien would have you chained in a basement somewhere for leverage."
I grab the nearest thing within reach. A glass tumbler from the side table. Hurl it at the wall behind his head. It explodes into fragments.
"Stop fucking SAVING me!"
The words rip out of me. Raw. Desperate. Every time he rescues me, I'm smaller. Every time he fixes what I break, I'm weaker. I need to be dangerous on my own terms. Not his pet. Not his project. Not the thing he keeps alive because he's terrified of being alone again.
"Today, I won, Dorian. I’m not letting you ruin it."
"You're reckless. You're a week old and you think you can handle vampires who've lived centuries."
My voice goes cold as winter.
"You want someone to control, get a pet."
I grab my jacket from the chair and head for the door. Dorian doesn't stop me. Doesn't grab my arm or block my path or say another word. Just watches me go with something raw and wounded in his eyes.
I slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame. Take the stairs instead of the elevator, need the physical outlet. Burst into the lobby and Rafael looks up from his desk, starts to say something, sees my face and wisely stays quiet.
I walk out into the night. No destination in mind.
Two blocks away Jett falls into step behind me. I hear him immediately. The careful footsteps. The presence that's trying and failing to be subtle.
I spin around.
"I don't need a babysitter."
Jett stops, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
"Boss says otherwise."
My hands ball into fists.
"Go back. I'm fine. I don't want company."
Jett shrugs.
"I've got nowhere else to be anyway. Might as well walk."
I stare at him for a long moment. Realize he's not going to leave. Turn and keep walking.
He follows at a respectful distance. Not close enough to crowd me. Close enough to intervene if something happens.
I walk for an hour, winding through streets I don't know, letting anger burn itself out into something colder and heavier. Finally stop at a park bench and sit.
Jett leans against a tree ten feet away and pulls out a cigarette. Doesn't light it. Just rolls it between his fingers.
After a long silence I speak without looking at him.
"Does Dorian send you to follow all his problems?"
Jett's voice is dry. "Just the ones who run into ambushes after being explicitly warned not to."
I almost smile. The silence stretches. I watch a couple cross the street, hands linked, disappearing into the glow of a late-night bodega.
"How long have you worked for him?" I ask.
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
Jett rolls the cigarette between his fingers. "Forty years, give or take."
"He turned you?"
"No."
"Then how did you meet?"
"He pulled me out of a bad situation. I stayed."
I turn to look at him. His face gives nothing away. All hard angles and scar tissue.
"What kind of bad situation?"
"The kind you don't walk away from without help."
"You're being deliberately vague."
"You're being deliberately nosy." His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Are we even now?"
I lean back against the bench. "Does he always send you to clean up his messes?"
"You're not a mess."
"What am I then?"
Jett finally lights the cigarette. Takes a drag. "Important."
The word lands heavier than it should. I watch smoke curl into the night air.
"He's terrified of losing me," I say.
"Yeah."
"Has he always been like this?"
Jett's eyes track a car rolling past. "Like what?"
"Controlling. Possessive."
"He's protective."
"Is he?"
Jett takes another drag. "I turned someone once. The woman I loved. She lasted three years before she walked into the sun. Said she couldn't live with what she'd become."
He flicks ash onto the pavement. His jaw works like he's chewing glass.
"Dorian found me after. Pulled me back from doing the same thing."
The information hits like cold water. I watch Jett's profile. The way his shoulders have gone rigid.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Don't be. I made the choice. She made hers." He drops the cigarette. Grinds it under his heel. "Dorian doesn't turn people lightly. He only chooses the ones who are already strong. The ones who might actually survive eternity."
"What if he chose wrong with me?"
"Maybe. Or maybe you are exactly who you need to be for now." Jett looks at me. "He's protective because he knows what it costs. Not just for him. For everyone involved."
"So I should just let him control me?"
"I didn't say that." He pushes off the tree. "But you could try meeting him halfway. He's not your enemy."
"He treats me like I'm breakable."
"You are breakable. So is he." Jett starts walking. "Come on. Let's get you back before he loses his mind completely."