*And there’s no way out.*
Thandie’s fire reminded him of Francine. The same urgent jerk of energy pulling her forward into calamity.
The same guilt.
Thandie had seen so many of her fellow shifters hurt and terrorized. However misplaced it was, her guilt over not being able to help was what drove her now.
What guilt was pushing Francine to throw herself headlong into danger? And what the hell was MacInnis doing, letting her? He should have sent a full armed team to escort Julian home. Not one broken woman.
*Anyway. That’s my story. Cleaning up after another pack of fucking insane shifters. Why are you here?*Thandie asked, gnawing her lower lip.
*I’m going to finish this.*
Her eyes lit up, briefly, as though they’d forgotten how to do that, too.*You do know what they’re up to?*
*And you don’t.*
She eyed him. *You’re not going to tell me? You don’t think the rest of us would benefit from knowing what the hell is going on?*
When he didn’t reply, she sighed. *Okay. Fine. So I forgot for a moment there that you’re an asshole.*
*I’m surprised you even asked.*
*You were a prisoner on Harper’s island, too. I figured…*She made a face.*Whatever you’re going to do, you’ll do it without destroying the ship, right? Like you said, my hummingbird is not gonna have a great time if I have to fly home.*
*I don’t intend to destroy anyone’s escape route.*By the end of this, the ship might be Francine’s only way of escaping.
“Good.” She gave him an odd look. “You want to come meet the rest of the team?”
“Another time. There’s somewhere else I need to be.”
“You know—” She pressed her lips together and switched to telepathy. *This is a totally different group than used to visit the island. And the vibes are … weird.*
He returned to the suite, unsettled by Thandie’s words and even more so when he could find no further trace of interference in their rooms.
How would he know, though? The world was full of things he still did not know.
It was past three in the morning when he heard footsteps outside the door. He leaped to his feet and was halfway across the room when the door opened and she walked through it.
Their eyes met.
A frisson went down his spine. Danger and excitement and—something else.
For a moment, Francine looked as fresh and ice-cold as she had done when she waved him away earlier that evening. Then she closed the door and slumped against it. The frozen mockery in her eyes melted, replaced by a deep, unseeing look that made Julian’s hair stand on end.
“I’m glad you’re still up.” Her voice had lost its buttery smoothness. The rough edges of it pulled at Julian’s heart. “We have something to celebrate.”
She lifted two champagne glasses and a bucket holding an open bottle that gleamed with condensation, then pushed off the door. He could almost see her icy armor cascading off her in sheets as she strode towards him. By the time she was standing so close he could smell the champagne on her breath, her eyes weren’t frozen, they were burning.
“What is it we’re celebrating?” he asked, thinking,If any of the others realized how drunk she is right now—
Her next words wiped his concerns from his mind.
“Gerald Harper’s dead,” Francine announced, and collapsed against him with a burst of laughter that tore out of her like a sob.
For an eternity, Julian did not move. He had caught Francine automatically. She was warm in his arms, all the razor-like tension he had come to associate with her transformed into loose-limbed exhaustion. Her face pressed against the side of hisneck, and she breathed against his skin, hot and alcohol-sweet and ragged.
His hands closed around her waist.
