I couldn’t believe how dumb, naive, and painfully trustingI’d been. I should have known better. Sleeping with him was a lapse in drunken judgment, but outside of that, I truly thought he had become somewhat of a friend. Not aclosefriend, but at the very least, a close-ish acquaintance.
My insides started to twist as my mind reeled, imagining all the Russian roulette outcomes to what happened if the Skell King found out.
Then, I saw images from the night he tried to kill me—the blood, the slicing pain, that skeletal face. Waves of panic crashed over me.
I felt darkness move within me. It was waking.Stretching.
No, no, no!I couldn’t lose control. Not now, not again . . .
The lastepisodeI had was at university in the Human Realm. I dumbly fell ass over tit for a guy. Followed him around like a love-sick puppy, lapping up every one of his sweet lies. Giddy jitters, butterflies, finishing each other’s thoughts—I had every horrible symptom. But that love hit me like a concrete revolving door.
I found out it wasn’t love at all—it was a trap, a game, a source of his entertainment.
I’d decided to stay in one night, but changed my mind last minute, wanting to surprise him at the bar. That’s when I saw him through the window—kissingher—theherhe said feelings were long dead and buried for. I realized then, that I was the pathetic placeholder.
I lost control. Completelysnapped.
Shadows crept down the street, crawling up the walls. All at once—the bar windows shattered, blasting shards of glass everywhere. People were hurt.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst was the screaming. Slowly, one after another, people started screaming,sobbing, shouting uncontrollably. As if I were a disease, my hysteria infecting them like a poison.
Calm down. Deep breath.
I tried to forget all the eyes that were on me, tried to forget the room I was in, tried to forget the sting of broken trust.
But soon voices escalated in my mind . . .
Always too trusting.
Always too forgiving.
Always a pretty little doormat.
Enough!
My eyes pierced into Lochlainn, daggers taking aim at his thick skull.
He stared back, grin fading.
That strange, ancient part of me cracked its neck.
Pogue shifted in his seat, brows drawn. He scanned me as if he could see something no one else could.
I didn’t need to look around to notice the room was dimming. The lamp above faintly squeaked as it started to sway side to side.
Keeffe’s face drained of color as he looked up at the shifting light fixture.
“Souls have mercy,” he whispered.
Finley stilled across from me. His mouth slightly opened to speak, but nothing came out.
“What is this?” A shaky voice demanded.
Lochlainn looked around the shadowed room warily. He raised his hands up in truce.
“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean offense.” There was caution behind his golden eyes. “Figured if I knew what ya were, it would only make sense my men should know as well since you’ve decided to work with us. Ya know, team effort and all of that shite.” He added a regretful smirk for good measure.
Lies.
