The door slams open and bangs against the wall hard enough that I think there might be a hole in the wall from the knob, but I don’t look away from Cheshire. I know I’m not supposed to turn my back on a predator or give him the opportunity to strike. The grin on his face is dripping malice, whether for me or something else, I don’t know. Either way, I’m not taking any chances.

He lifts his hand towards my neck, wicked sharp claws on the tips of his fingers. Panic shoots through me, and I jerk hard to free the candelabra. It pops free, and I swing the heavy piece at Cheshire, aiming for his head. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting its mark. His fist wraps around it, stopping the metal inches from his face, the grin on his face widening impossibly.

“Be gone, Cheshire!” the Hatter roars as he storms into the room. I assume he’s the one who slammed the door open. Why he waited so long to react when Cheshire was clearly threatening me, I don’t know. Cheshire fades quickly away, but just before he’s gone completely, he speaks.

“Mind the Madness, Clara Bee.”

Whatever that means. This entire world is mad.

The Hatter watches me as I set the candelabra back where it came from before turning to face him. He looks exactly the same, his chest still beautifully displayed beneath his jacket. For the first time, I notice a dainty necklace hanging around his neck, but I can’t figure out what it is. I do know it draws my eyes to his abs again. I try my hardest not to focus on them.

“Would you like to try and hit me with that, as well?” he asks, his eyes glittering. “I might let you.”

He’s taking slow, measured steps towards me as I stare at him. More dust swirls around his legs.

“That depends. Do I need to protect myself against you?” I tilt my head slightly, considering his question.

He stops a few feet in front of me, his arms relaxed by his sides.

“You need to protect yourself against everything in Wonderland,” he replies. “Especially me.”

There’s overwhelming sadness in his eyes at the admission, and I find myself leaning towards him, wanting to comfort him.

“Do you intend to hurt me?” I whisper. I had already let my guard down around him, and I’m questioning whether that was the right thing to do or not. He seems so adamant that he is dangerous.

“Sometimes we can’t help who we hurt,” he says morosely, but then, a wide smile replaces it, spreading across his face. He closes the distance between us until our bodies are flush. I tense, but I don’t pull away. My mom would be so exasperated right now. I can hear her voice in my head clearly. Clara, what have I told you about cozying up to strange men?

I don’t know what it is about the Hatter that makes me trust him. Maybe it’s because my job as a lawyer is to help the living while the Hatter helps the dead. Someone evil doesn’t help the unfortunate, no matter if it’s their job or not. I had seen genuine sadness on his face in that ballroom. Evil people don’t care when someone dies. Evil doesn’t mourn the passing of strangers. So, I might tense in surprise when he presses his body against mine, but I don’t push him away. I might lean closer.

“Do you want me to hurt you?” he asks, his voice husky. “I can make pain feel like pleasure.”

“Pain isn’t really my thing,” I whisper back. My body is growing heated, but I fight the compulsion to wrap my arms around his neck as I look into his gaze. His eyes are such a pretty shade of old gold, sparkling in the dim light of the room. They’re like two ancient coins shining in a long forgotten tomb. He studies me intently, and I let him, content to stay close.

“Clara Bee, what are you doing to me? Is this only the prophecy?” he whispers in a sing song voice. I suck in a breath.

“What is the prophecy?” I ask, because I need to know. Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s so important. It’s obviously a big deal to Wonderland. “How am I supposed to help bring down the Red Queen?”

He smiles, softer this time as he begins to speak. His voice takes on a haunting quality, like it’s more than one voice speaking the words coming from his lips.

As his voice stops, and the haunting quality fades away, I feel the rhyme slipping inside my bones and settling in, like the weight of the words are bearing down on me. My heart gives a hard thud as the Hatter continues to wear that soft smile. Comprehension and shock flood my body when the words register.

“So, you see, Miss Clara Bee.” He tilts his head to the side, watching my reaction. “We are destined for each other.”

I feel my face harden, his words causing a knee-jerk reaction.

“I make my own destiny,” I say, lifting my hands and attempting to push him away. I say attempt because he doesn’t actually move. I don’t expect the raw strength I can feel in his body, the concealed power under his jacket. I don’t expect to like the feel of his chest against my hands.

“Move,” I growl, shoving harder.

“Tell me,” he says. “Is there a difference between pleasure and pain when your mind is a hurricane?”

I pause, struck by the unbearable sadness in his eyes. Sympathy stalls my hands where they remain against his chest.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. I know immediately that I’ve done something wrong.

His face shuts down, his eyes sparking in anger. The old gold color flashes, swirling in metallics.

“I don’t need your pity,” he snarls before he swings around and storms from the room. I breathe a sigh of relief, clutching my chest to slow my heart rate. The various emotions I just witnessed make my head spin.

When I look at the room again, I realize the entire space is clean, not a speck of dust left. At some point, my nose even stopped itching, and I just hadn’t noticed. Everything gleams, sparkling and fresh. There’s even a soft lavender smell in the room. I shake my head. I don’t even want to question how it had all happened. I’m thankful for it, though.

On the bed, I can see clothing laid out on the purple duvet. As I wander closer, I realize it’s a pair of black leather pants and a long, half dress jacket. The top resembles a long coat, the back a full dress that would flow behind me as I walk. From behind, no one would think I’m wearing pants. From the front, I’d look like I’m ready to do business. The jacket has a high neck, a pretty damask design in the purple that closely resembles the Hatter’s jacket. Mine is a lighter purple, though not by much. There’s a pair of combat boots sitting at the foot of the bed. I raise my eyebrows. The entire outfit is a more feminine version of the Hatter’s. Apparently, we’re matching now.

If it wasn’t so off-putting, it would be cute. Kind of.