“Your code?” Electra asks.
I glance at the frying pan drying next to the sink. Would it repel magic if she launched some at me?
“0-0-0-0.”
“Impressive security system, Mr. Lowry.”
I move to grab the pan and feign drying it with the navy-checkered kitchen towel. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Miss Serran.”
When Quinn’s torn cheek scorches my vision, my resolve to employ brute force wavers. Do I have the stomach to make Electra bleed?
I remind myself that Electra isn’t innocent. That she’s from Atlantis. Besides, her little runes would suture any wound. Not to mention, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.
She’s murdered before. Singed bodies beyond recognition. I’ve seen the pictures. The girl before me is capable of true evil.
Adrenaline bloats my tongue and slickens my palms. I tighten my grip on the pan’s handle before it can topple.
Smashing it against Electra’s lovely face makes my skin crawl, but what choice do I have if she unmasks me?
Chapter 23
Electra
JEN:Girls want to do a themed party for the bachelorette.
JEN:Which means costumes.
JEN:Which means you need to wear one.
JEN:Theme is Wild West, so spurs and cowboy hats. Yeehaw.
JEN:Also, Logan asks if we need any chairs?
I don’t know what I was expecting, but not a flood of messages from Jeneva Smith about her bestie’s bachelorette. “I forgot about your little dance party.”
“Didn’t Jen invite you to come to it last night?”
“Invitations made under the influence of tequila should never be taken seriously. A lot like fake-dating schemes,” I add under my breath.
Why does my skin feel tight? I cannot possibly be jealous of Cillian entertaining a dozen rowdy women, one of whom is getting married.
Not that that’s ever stopped anyone from contemplating a last hurrah, but still…
Malachi is coming over. Malachi is the one you’ve been pining for, not the man who smells like constant surprise and hard work.
As I hand Cillian back his phone, his gaze drags over me—again.
Again, it jostles my pulse.
I expect he’ll type out a reply to eager Jeneva, but instead, he pockets the device.
“The second we quit this charade, she’ll be all over you.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” I lie. I lick my lips. “Just maybe wait a month, so that Callie doesn’t feel like murdering you, since she thinks that what we have is real.”
“Like I’ve told you—multiple times…” He crowds me again, but only sets one palm on the counter this time. The other hangs loosely at his side, as though undecided what to grip—me or marble. “I’m not interested in Jen.”
