He dropped them onto the floor.
“I’d tell you he agreed to our terms,” he said,“but I’d be lying. You’re worthless to him.”
Are they all this stupid? Bouda asked.
Or do they just think we are.
“Why don’t you show me the exchange?” I asked.“Whatever was said or recorded.”
“Unfortunately, I had to dispose of my SIM card after the interaction.”
“How convenient,” I said, sounding bored.
His lip curled in contempt. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I don’t care whether he comes through or not,” he snapped.“You’ll never see him again.”
This time, the door didn’t fully close behind him.
“What a nasty fucking prick,” I muttered.
It didn’t help that the thought of never seeing Fenrir or Blaidd again hit me in the gut like a silent punch. I didn’t even bother trying to analyse it. Bouda’s bond with Fenrir had been plain to see in the woods.
The human side was more… complicated.
The last few weeks had been a quiet truce of sorts. I’d almost stopped messing with his OCD brain—almost. Every now and then, I’d change something just a fraction, just to see if he’d notice.
He never bought you flowers again, Bouda chuckled.
I smiled reluctantly, remembering the massacre of the roses.
I never chose Blaidd or Fenrir. Perhaps it was a mixture of fate and the will of his wolf. He sensed Bouda within me. Through that single bite, Bouda had been activated. Nothing meant more to us than the survival of our children. That was all I truly knew about the four of us—the one thing we agreed upon.
I glanced at the door.
And that prick thought he could lie to me.
???
It didn’t take long for the arsehole to saunter back into the room. I bit my tongue to stop myself from cussing him out. I didn’t know how, but I could read him—the way he watched me when he spoke, as if he were waiting to see my fear surface or hoping I’d beg for mercy.
It reminded me of my early days with Blaidd. He’d tried to break my spirit then. Now I was sleeping comfortably beside my former enemy.
I won’t mince my words, but you never dwell on that when he has you bouncing up and down on that bed, Bouda sniggered.
“Do you have a name,” I asked,“or are you afraid to tell me?” He hadn’t spoken yet.
“I work from the shadows, and I never give my name. It can be dangerous in my line of work,” he said, toeing the sandwich packet.“You’re not hungry?”
“I prefer my food drug-free.”
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, rubbing his jaw.
“And what was that?”
“A privileged rich bitch who’d be a blubbering mess by now.”
I decided to toss him a bone.
