I’ve never heard that one before.
“No,” I say, and Elliot nods but remains silent.
I’m not sure if it’s shock or anger. Maybe a mix of both. But he stands in front of me, clenching his teeth as he pries at the choker around his neck. He winces as he wedges three fingers under the thick leather band, and only then does he manage to take a proper breath.
“Okay,” he says. “If anyone asks, you and I were upstairs all night.”
“That’s it?”
His brows lift.
“Is there something more?”
I think for a moment, replaying the events in my mind to be sure. Everyone always tells me there has to be something more. But he’s right. That’s all there is to it.
That’s all there ever is to it.
“No,” I say finally, and he nods again.
“Then, that’s it.”
As he utters the words with sure finality, I am reminded of his role in the Crescent pack. Second in command, right behind Dame. A decision I never quite understood until now.
The Elliot I know is not very serious. He’s usually the one who makes a joke to keep the tensions from running too high, and even in the rare moments he is serious, it never lasts long. So it never made sense to me why Dame, polished and professional as can be, would choose someone like him to stand beside him.
But the man in front of me is quite different from the one I’ve known for the past four years.
This man is stern and unwavering. Calculating and cold, dripping in a rage so potent I can taste it.
As I stand here in the frigid wind, wrapped in his jacket, listening to him plot our deception with a level head, it all makes sense.
Dame is the wolf that barks. And Elliot is the wolf that bites.
Chapter4
Apathy is Genetic
ELLIOT
Fuck me.
This is a terrible idea.
No, not just a terrible idea. It’s probably the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Worse than that time Dame and I swapped bodies for a week when we were nine, and definitely worse than the day I convinced Vanessa to challenge Kitty.
But knowing that doesn’t stop me from waiting by the door until I can no longer hear her footsteps. And it certainly didn’t stop me from scraping her scent clean from the grove tonight.
Masking it was no easy task.
Her fragrance is unique, a heady blend of cherries, smoke, and honeysuckle, like spiced sugar over an open flame. It makes her easy to find, and, as Dred so kindly pointed out, very hard to forget. But one of the few perks of being a Cross is that you learn quickly how to keep a secret.
Some mint and a bit of unicorn horn, and not even a hellhound will be able to sniff her out. But the Inquisition will sure as hell try. They take their role very seriously, despite their shitty track record.
People disappear at Highcrest all the time—girls, guys, students, professors—never to be heard from again. But very rarely do we see a murder, which means the Inquisition will feel the need to devote its full force to finding the culprit. Or should I say, finding Iris.
Honestly, we’re just lucky St. Grey wasn’t high-born. Then we’d have to deal with the magistrate, and they’re not as easy to outmaneuver.
