Elliot’s eyes are pleading, and I nod, unsure what I’m really agreeing to, but I don’t have time to consider it. He’s kissing me, long and hard, before I can speak again, and I can feel my throat start to constrict as I realize he’s telling me goodbye.
He breaks away without a word, and my head pounds as I glance around at the people gathering in the foyer.
A few of the other wolves are idling just inside the den, watching, and whispering. There are several men, uniformed and armed, standing on either side of Dame. And Woods is here.
Why is Woods here?
“Elliot Cross,” one of the inquisitors announces. “You are hereby contained for the maim and murder of Deacon Anderson.”
“What?” I blurt, clinging to Elliot.
But he’s already pulling away from me, detangling himself from my hold.
“Iris, go home.”
“No, Elliot?—”
“Baby, I don’t want you to see this. Please, just go.”
I must look crazed, pulling at him as he tries to pry me off.
“What?” I say, too shocked to find any other word.
Elliot smiles as he steps away.
“You know I hate when you do that?”
I nod.
“Yeah, I know.”
In my periphery, I can see the inquisition closing in on us, and I pull him down, crushing his lips to mine one more time as I try to impart every word I haven’t said into a single kiss. But as he pulls away, I whisper the only ones that matter.
“I love you,” I say, voice quiet. Quiet enough that only he will hear.
He swallows hard as the dampener constricts, and tears spring to my eyes as rage consumes me. But there’s a smile on Elliot’s face as his hands come behind his back, and it’s the last thing I see before they wink out of sight, and I’m left standing on my own in the middle of the entryway.
“Iris…”
Dame’s voice is soft as he reaches for me, but I shake him off.
“Don’t!” I snap, moving toward the door.
“Let me take you home,” he says, speaking gently, the way you might speak to an innocent child.
It makes my teeth grind. I am too far from innocent for such tenderness. And it seems everyone but Dame knows that.
As I look around, I see nothing but eyes. Staring. Judging. Shaming.
My stomach turns, and I suck down a shuddering breath as I try to keep from crying under their watchful gaze.
“Iris…” Dame calls, but I’m already halfway out the door, stumbling down the steps and back out onto the sidewalk. I think I can hear him trailing behind me, but I don’t know for how long. I wouldn’t know because I don’t look back, and I don’t slow until I reach the relative safety of the apartment.
It’s empty, of course, but as the tears start to stream down my face, I think I’m okay with that.
I don’t even make it to the sofa this time. I crouch down in the entryway, clutching my stomach to keep the grief from pouring over.
It works for a while, but the pain is too deep to stifle, and I let it run its course until my phone vibrates and I see “Kitty” pop up on my screen. I rush to open the message.
