“Hells,” I mutter, cringing. “That’s disgusting,” I mutter.
“Have you seen this image before?”
I shake my head, though I don’t have to lie. This image is nothing like what I saw that night.
When I left the forest, Grey, although dead and maimed, was in one piece. The man in these pictures is not.
Claw marks run along every inch. From shoulder to wrist and hip to heel. So deep, whoever did it struck bone. The blood from his wounds is pooling in the grass, and there are dark lines burned into his arms and legs, like shadows that never faded.
I have not seen these images before. But, to Inquisitor Almar’s point, I have seen images like them. In comparison to Serena, they are shockingly similar.
Fuck me.
“I didn’t do that,” I say flatly, sliding the photos back across the table.
“I did not say you did.”
He leaves the images on the table to haunt his inquisition.
“Tell me what you were doing the night Grey died,” he demands.
I shrug.
“I already made my statement. I was upstairs all night with my girlfriend.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
“You know what’s funny?” Almar frowns. “People keep saying that.”
“We’re not exactly a subtle pair,” I say.
His brows lift, and he leans forward, almost excited.
“I’ll say. This would be the same girlfriend with a habit of leaving men lying around campus half-drained, correct?”
I chuckle at the thought of Iris leaving a trail of bodies behind her. She does tend to let them lie where they fall.
“That’s my girl,” I proclaim, feeling oddly satisfied as I claim her out loud.
“She has quite the record herself. You must be very proud.”
I smile, flashing my canines.
“What can I say? She’s a woman after my own heart.”
Almar does not find my praises amusing. In fact, I can smell the rage crawling up his throat. It makes its way out in the form of a single question.
“Did you take your dampener off that night?” he asks, fist resting on the table.
My smile widens.
“No.”
“And your girlfriend will corroborate that? Since you were together ‘all night.’”
“She will.”
