At least, I used to think so.
Jesse and Ash had lost their senior teammate a week before I was assigned to Wyatt. They took to me faster than he did. He said at least once a week that I didn’t have what it took to be a Hunter. Times have changed.
Wyatt hands me a steaming porcelain mug. I inhale the rich scent of the cocoa, soothed by the gentle aroma of chocolate. The hot mug burns my fingertips, but it is a welcome pain. I sip. It scorches down my throat and warms my belly.
He sits on the edge of the bed, intent on me. “Tell me about it, Evy.”
“About what?” I ask, playing obtuse. Buying time to summon the words. He is silent, not playing along this time. I clutch the mug in both hands. My skin heats.
So I do. When I get to the part about Jesse’s death, Wyatt slides up the bed until he can touch my arm. I don’t draw away. I find a tiny measure of comfort in his touch, his warmth. He brushes my tears away with his hand. He offers what I needed two nights ago—unconditional love. Acceptance of tragedy and the promise of hope. I put the mug down on the room’s single nightstand and surge into his arms, burying my face in his shoulder. He holds me, hands stroking my back, his voice soft and murmuring empty words.
“They didn’t tell me,” he says. “The brass said nothing about Jesse being turned, just shot in the back.”
“What about the Halfies?” I ask, lifting my head. “Their bodies wouldn’t have had time to decompose.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “None were found, just Jesse and Ash. Someone set you up, Evy. Someone who wanted all three of you dead.”
I rest my head on his chest, drawing strength from him. His arms tighten around my waist. His heart, thudding so close to my ear, speeds up. He shifts. I remember his words from an hour ago: a happy ending for us. What sort of happy ending had Tovin seen? I love Wyatt, as much as any person possibly can, but not in a romantic way. I never had those feelings for him, and I don’t have them now.
I close my eyes, but all I see is the fight that killed my partners. My friends. I see how fiercely they pile onto Jesse during those first moments. I see Ash, black hair a blur as she becomes the warrior I have always longed to be. The fight is so well coordinated, unexpectedly so for Halfies. They move in packs and fight dirty. This is more planned, more focused—just not on me.
My eyes snap open. I must be remembering it wrong. But as I replay the battle from first blow to last, I keep reaching the same conclusion. After my initial taunt, none of them made a move on me. And the remaining Halfies scattered when Ash fell, and I was the last human standing.
Fucking impossible.
No, I am just tired and way beyond stressed. That line of thinking screams “inside job,” and I’m just not going there. Not until I can think straight again. “I don’t understand, Wyatt,” I whisper. “Do the Triads—?”
“Right now, I don’t trust the Triads. Or the Council, for that matter. There’s no way to know if one of them is in on this yet. But we could get them to listen to you.”
“You mentioned that before. About information?”
He releases me, and I miss his embrace. I feel cold without it. He paces to the other side of the room, hands balling into fists. I can almost see imaginary wheels turning in his head. “Tovin has been hearing rumors for a few days now, mostly through informants and the gossip train, about a possible alliance developing between the goblin Queens and one of the Blood Families. And now I’ve started hearing them, too.”
My heart hammers. A chill worms down my spine, stirring up the sudden urge to vomit. “That’s not possible. Goblins and Bloods hate each other.”
“Normally, they do, but they hate humans and the Fey even more. An alliance like that would be a disaster to us and the Fey Council, and to everything we’ve managed to build over the last decade. It would force the other races to take sides, and not all of them would side with us.”
“How reliable is your intel?”
“No one jokes about something like that, Evy. If they’re hearing it, it’s happening. The question now becomes when, and why? If we can get a bead on those things, find something to give the Council that can prepare them for the possibility of a species war, it could go a long way toward getting the brass to listen to your side of the story. Right now, we’re under orders to shoot you on sight.”
I shudder. “Guess I’m lucky you found me first.”
“I’ll protect you, Evy.” He returns to the bed, sits down in front of me. “I promised I would, and I will. We’ll figure this all out together.”
His hands cup my cheeks and force me to look into eyes that seem to see right through me, right into my heart and soul. So protective and loving. I crave those things. If only they can be enough to make me believe in his promised happy ending.
His breath is sweet, like chocolate, and warm on my face. I feel every callus on his fingertips, every rough patch of skin on his palms. His thumb gently strokes across my cheek—a featherlight touch. The world is more vivid, if only for a moment.
Wyatt’s mouth captures mine, and the world goes away. I have nothing to lose, and he has everything to gain. He wants this. I don’t know if I do or not, but I submit. Instinct takes over. I reach for him.
Hands caress flesh. Clothing falls away, replaced by touches and kisses. I taste his sweat; he tastes mine. Our bodies are one—stroking, taking, needing. Time is nothing. The world means nothing. We take pleasure in each other, finding elusive comfort in this sudden intimacy.
It is over too soon. He holds me close, my back to his chest, still breathing hard against my neck. My body trembles, as much from the pleasure he has given me as from the fear of facing tomorrow. Everything has changed. There is no going back.
“I love you, Evy,” Wyatt whispers.
I do not reply.
Chapter 9
56:06
Certain my death would come soon and on swift feet, I had felt no shame in allowing the seduction. Not that night. The shame consumed me a week later as I sat on the bottom stair of a dank library service stairwell. My body had lied to Wyatt, faking love when all it craved was sensation. Touch. One last hurrah before I died.
A perfect moment for both of us, if he’d let me stay dead.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt.” My voice echoed, harsh and piercing. I longed to pull out of his arms, put as much distance between us as possible, but found myself immobilized. Not by his embrace, but by my own emotions. I had felt alive during those intimate moments. Alive and wanted and necessary, able to face anything the Dregs threw at me. In that dank library stairwell, I wallowed in shame.
“Sorry for what?” Wyatt asked.
“I shouldn’t have slept with you.”
A ripple went through his body, and I felt it keenly. Not quite a shiver, but close. I wanted to take back those hurtful words, erase them from his memory. I saved him the trouble of pushing me away and stood up, untangling his arms from my waist. Two steps took me to the stairwell door. I pulled the knob. His hand slammed against the door and pushed it closed again. I yelped.
“Don’t run from me, Evy,” he said.
He grabbed my wrist. Instinct kicked in. I twisted my hand around, stepped to the left, and reversed the grip. Drew his arm up and behind his back, effectively pinning him face-first to the door. My free hand squeezed his shoulder. I’d snapped necks from this position, killed dozens of Halfies with a single, pointed blow through the heart. I didn’t want to hurt Wyatt. Far from it. I just needed room to think.
“Don’t do that,” I hissed into his ear. “Ever.”
“I’m sorry.”
I let go and moved to the other side of the tiny space. He stood still for a moment, then slowly turned around. His jaw was clenched, his mouth drawn into a straight line. The sight of him, so grim and desperate, deflated my anger.