“That’s because you’re sick.” She broke away from him, turning to glare into his pretty-boy face. “Does William know about your hedonism? Is this why you can’t quite make your way into the inner circle?”
His eyes narrowed. “Iamthe inner circle.”
She taunted, “No, sweetheart,I’mthe inner circle. And as someone definitelyinthe inner circle, I know when someoneisn’t.”
“You think your father hasn’t fucked and sucked his way through a million orgies?” Roark snapped. “I’ve witnessed him do it! Wake up, princess! This is the real world.” He gestured behind him to the four humans sprawled across his bedroom. “All that bullshit Payne feeds you about control and respect and feeding for necessity, not for pleasure, is just his fucked-up way of keeping you on his leash.”
Well trained by William, Echo didn’t flinch, even though she felt Roark’s words score through her like the tip of a wooden stake. He was right. She had no doubt William lied about feeding from humans for mere necessity. It would all have been part of the image he wanted to present to Echo.
An honorable vampire. A supernatural with a mission. Hard, but fair.
He was none of those things.
For twenty-six years, she’d been raised to believe that he and his now-dead boss Eirik led their organization, The Garm, with altruistic purpose. To find the prophesied fae-borne and kill them before they could open the gates to Faerie. Eirik had been to Faerie. Had lived when the fae walked among humans freely. It was a dark age, he’d told her.
The fae were to be hated, spurned, killed.
And yet, she’d discovered only days after her appearance in Echo’s apartment that Niamh Farren wasn’t a witch like she’d suspected. William had finally entrusted Echo with their game plan and shown her the files The Garm had on those they knew were definitely fae. He’d shown her images of the ones The Garm had hunted and killed. Three of the seven were dead. Of those who were left, they’d identified two, plus an extra fae who had nothing to do with the prophecy.
A petite brunette named Rose Kelly.
A hulking, ancient Celtic king, Fionn Mór, not fae-borne but made fae by the Faerie Queen herself, and now mated to Rose Kelly.A dangerous mating, William had said.
And a tall, willowy blond Echo had recognized immediately.
Niamh Farren.
She’d kept her expression clear of any recognition as William explained who Niamh was—a particularly powerful Irish fae with psychic abilities.
Three weeks ago, Niamh Farren broke into Echo’s apartment undetected by William’s men who watched her place. She disabled the bugs Echo knew William had planted. And then Niamh dropped files at Echo’s feet filled with information that blew her world apart. At the time, Echo had sensed her magic and thought her a witch.
Now she knew Niamh was a fae. And psychic. It would explain how she knew about Echo’s mother and father. And why she’d brought the files to her in the first place. To undermine William. To drive a wedge between him and his daughter.
Mission accomplished.
Taking the information William shared, Echo had done her own digging. Not just on her parents, but on Niamh.
Everywhere the psychic had been spotted in the last year, Echo found news articles on miracle events. Human accidents and crimes that had been averted. Niamh Farren had presumably been using her fae gifts to save people.
Not exactly the monster William had painted the fae to be.
But more than that … Echo remembered the feeling she’d gotten from Niamh as the blond stood in her apartment.
She couldn’t explain it, other than it was almost spiritual. Like she was standing before a being who was pure of heart. Sounded cheesy and trippy when she said it like that, but Echo didn’t know how else to explain it.
And the truth was, she no longer knew what to believe about the prophecy, about The Garm. They’d killed innocent people in their mission, and she’d compartmentalized that. They were casualties of war.
Or were they?
Maybe they were casualties of Eirik’s and William’s madness, of their desperate desire to remain at the top of the food chain.
Glaring at Roark, who wanted to be one of them, Echo demanded, “Clothes. Now.”
He rolled his eyes like a child. “For a moment there, I actually thought you were loosening up. But you’re still wound tighter than a fucking nun.”
“That’s a contradiction,” she muttered under her breath as she searched the bedroom for her clothing.
“What?” he snapped at her back.
