Chapter 42 At Odds
Lorraine found Roman in his study again, maps and papers spread across the desk like a general plotting his next war. The glow of a desk lamp painted his face in stark lines, highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the shadows under his eyes. He looked every bit the man who carried the weight of an empire on his shoulders. They had been distant for a few days, barely sharing words together in the hallways in passing. She wasn't sure what the cold shoulder treatment was about. Just a few nights ago everything was fine.
She lingered at the doorway for a moment, uncertain. But then she took a breath and stepped inside. “Roman, we need to talk.”
His head lifted, those stormy eyes fixing on her instantly. For a heartbeat, his expression softened at the sight of her—but then his gaze returned to the maps. “Now’s not a good time, little witch.”
“It’s never a good time with you,” Lorraine shot back, more sharply than she intended. She crossed the room and planted her hands on the desk, blocking his view. “So we’re making it a good time.”
Roman leaned back in his chair, studying her with a look equal parts curiosity and warning. “You’ve got fire tonight. What is it?”
“I want to help.”
The words came out faster than she’d rehearsed them, but once spoken, they couldn’t be taken back.
His brows rose, but he didn’t look surprised. “Help?”
“Yes,” she pressed. “With the shipments. With the planning. With… all of this.” She gestured to the maps, the papers, the carefully drawn routes. “I can do more than sit on the sidelines. You know that. You’ve seen what I can do.”
His expression darkened. “Absolutely not.”
Lorraine’s temper flared. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said evenly, “this is not a game. It’s not a parlor trick with salt and candles. This is blood, Raine. Guns. Men who would cut your throat without blinking if it got them what they wanted.”
“And you think I don’t understand danger?” she demanded. “I’ve been dragged through the mud since the moment we set foot in this city. I’ve seen Dwade’s plantation. I’ve seen what happens when power goes unchecked. And I’ve seen you, Roman. You, carrying all of this alone. Why shouldn’t I stand beside you instead of being kept in the dark?”
His jaw flexed. “Because it’s not your place.”
The words struck like a slap. Lorraine recoiled, heat rising to her cheeks. “Not my place?”
Roman closed his eyes briefly, as though regretting the phrasing, but when he opened them, his tone was still firm. “Your place is safe. Away from this. My men signed up for the risk. You didn’t.”
“I didn’t sign up for magic either,” Lorraine retorted. “But it’s in me. And if fate saw fit to dump all of this in my lap, then maybe I’m meant to do more than sit pretty while you bleed for everyone else.”
He rose then, moving around the desk with a predator’s grace. He stopped just in front of her, so close she could feel the heat rolling off him. “You don’t understand, Raine. If you put one foot into this world, there’s no stepping back. You think it’s noble, but it’s a trap. One day you wake up, and you can’t tell where the lies end and the truth begins. You want that on your soul?”
Lorraine lifted her chin, refusing to flinch. “What I want is to matter. To you. To this fight. I’m not asking to take over, Roman. I’m asking to stand beside you.”
For a moment, she thought he might soften. His eyes flickered, the wall of steel cracking just slightly. But then he turned away, running a hand through his hair.
“No.” His voice was final, cold. “It’s too dangerous. You’re too important to me to risk like that.”
The words should have soothed her. Instead, they burned. Lorraine’s chest ached with anger and helplessness. She turned sharply, striding to the door before the emotion in her throat could choke her.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Lock me in a tower, then. Pretend that keeps me safe.” She yanked the door open, the wood slamming against the wall. “But don’t expect me to thank you for it.”
She stormed down the hall, her sandals slapping against the marble floor. Behind her, the silence stretched—Roman hadn’t followed.
By the time she reached her room, her pulse was a hammer in her ears. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her chest rising and falling. Frustration burned hotter than any fear she’d felt since coming to New Orleans.
She had come so far—uncovering her power, standing up to Dwade, surviving betrayal after betrayal—and still Roman looked at her like porcelain. Something to admire, maybe even protect, but never to trust with the full weight of his world.
Her fists clenched. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to break the careful composure he always wore like armor.
Instead, she sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously.
If Roman thought she’d give up, he was wrong.
Because Lorraine had made a decision: she would find her way into his world. Whether he invited her or not.
And maybe—just maybe—she already knew how.
