My only response is a nod before he adds, “By the way, your blind faith in Leigh is inspiring, but I’m not sure you know who you’re dealing with.”
“What does that mean?” I call after him. But the door rattles shut.
Vaneand I walk side by side toward Vyvyan’s chambers, our footsteps echoing against the stone floors. Everyone in the Nest is asleep, but Vyvyan requires a check-up before Vane tries once again to turn her back into a vampire. I plan to use our time together to plead my case to find the killer by raising the Balam. It is a surefire way to apprehend the killer and keep living here.
My fingers trace the silver necklace hanging around my neck.
“Will you stop fidgeting? You are making me nervous,” Vane chastises, his voice tight with an emotion I can’t place.
It is the most he’s talked to me since my date with Jaxson. As we approach Vyvyan’s bedroom door, I adjust my attire, pulling up the neckline to avoid showing too much cleavage—Vyvyan always comments on my appearance.
Just as I smooth my skirt, Vane grabs my hand.
“Relax, you look fine,” he orders.
I yank my hand from his, my skin tingling where he touched me. “I don’t get you,” I reply. The words hang between us like a challenge.
Vane’s grin widens. “What’s not to get?” he asks.
“This.” I gesture between us, the movement sharp. “You say you want nothing to do with me, yet every time I turn around, there you are.”
Is it because he senses I’m about to uncover his secret? Alden might not have been in Borealis the night of the attack, but perhaps Vane planted the prints to cast blame on the wolf. It was sheer misfortune that Alden came to visit right after.
“Do I bother you, Desiree?” he asks.
I put some distance between us, my fingers twitch betraying my unease at his presence. My evening with Jax was enjoyable, and I refuse to let Vane ruin it by playing mind games with me. “We should go inside.”
I raise my hand to knock, but he says, “Wait.”
My hand falls to my side. Vane steps forward, pushing open Vyvyan’s ajar door. The hinges creak. We exchange wary glances. Vyvyan always keeps this door locked.
“Vyvyan?” Vane’s voice rings through the unsettling quiet as he pushes the door wider and steps inside.
I follow and collide with his rigid form as he stops beyond the threshold.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but Vane doesn’t answer. Instead, he rushes to where Vyvyan lies sprawled on the floor.
I gasp, the sound sharp in the silence.
Vyvyan’s room is a catastrophe, strewn with clothing and shattered furniture. The torn curtains surrounding her four-poster bed mirror the disarray of her attire, the fabric hanging in tattered shreds off her shoulders. The air stinks of spilled liquor and the metallic tang of blood. All the smells threaten my upchuck reflex.
I rush to Vane’s side—my shoes crunching broken glass—as he pulls Vyvyan’s limp body into his arms. She is a small, fragile figure amid the wreckage, a bloody mark on her lip stark against her ebony skin. “Is she . . .”
Vane shakes his head grimly. “She’s alive but unconscious.”
A huge breath escapes me. “What the hell happened? Was she attacked?”
I search the room for daemon tracks. Nothing.
“The scent of her blood is fresh.” Vane’s tone hardens with a hint of malice.
“M-maybe I can catch them?”
I shift to rush out the door, determined to find the assailant once and for all, but Vane grabs my wrist. His grip is firm yet gentle.
“Don’t go. I may need your medical knowledge. I’m sure they’re long gone by now.”
I nod, swallowing hard. What else am I good for?
