Her voice echoed down the line. Don’t have a heart attack, Q.
It’d been too easy. Both breaking my word and dissolving the tablet into her drink. I said I wouldn’t kidnap or drug her—that was before she showed some backbone in the coffee shop, and had the fucking audacity to ask me for something.Sex? She willingly wanted some sort of meaningless connection with me? That pissed me off. I’d looked forward to taking that from her. The will. The desire. Stripping her of the choice before taking what she didn’t want to give.
I just had some work ahead of me. I’d been too soft. Too gentile. It was time to make my prey fully understand the nightmare she’d walked into and put a stop to the stupid fantasises she entertained.And I couldn’t think about her brother without wanting to fucking punch something. I shouldn’t have been so lenient. I didn’t care who she talked to as long as she remained mine to torment. But him—he could ruin everything. The Weaver men had been a constant pain in the arse since the Hawks started taking their women.War had broken out. Lives were lost on both sides.
But we won. And would continue to win, because they were pussies and we were strong.Nila didn’t say a word as I guided her down the airbridge and onto the plane. To an outsider she looked perfectly normal. Perhaps a little tired and spaced out, but content and not in any way distressed.
That was the wonder of this particular drug.
Externally, she acted the perfect part. Internally, I had no idea, nor cared how she felt. It wasn’t my problem if she saw everything that happened. Her mind was unhindered, but all motor control was stolen. And there was nothing she could do about it. She dealt with vertigo on a daily basis—this was no different. I’d taken her ability with the help of a simple chemical. In fact, I was kinder than vertigo, because I gave her something to hold onto.Before I turned around, though, I found myself contemplating the little house. I had moved a number of times since coming to LA, but the guest cottage was the first place I’d lived in this city that felt like home. Maybe because I had chosen it, instead of having it foisted on me when I had no time and few options, or maybe because I had personally painted the walls and helped move in the furniture. I had made choices on this house, and I’d been happy here. After nearly three years, it felt more like my own than any place I’d ever been.
And yet I suddenly felt like I was seeing it for the first time. It was strange, realizing how different everything had become in a few short years. Maybe I was just noticing it because Jesse was in my life again, but that didn’t make the differences any less valid.Was Eli right? Had Dashiell and the others sent me on a useless hunt for clues just to keep me busy until the Trials began? Had they already decided to drop the whole thing and let the bad guys get away with framing Molly? I could see Dashiell doing that. And Will would probably go along with it—he wasn’t passive, our alpha werewolf, but he was pragmatic when it came to safety.
I didn’t want to think that of Kirsten, though. But Molly had killed a Friend of the Witches. Did Kirsten want justice badly enough to overlook the nuances?I whirled around, fast as I could, and threw the first knife. People think knives spin around in the air, but that’s a cute party trick, the kind of thing they do at circuses and magic shows. If you want to hurt someone with a throwing knife, I’m a big fan of the quarter-turn method, which lets the blade bury itself further into the target.