“Tonight. Midnight.”
“I can’t. I have?—”
“I don’t give a fuck!” she snaps, and I hold the phone away from my head as she shouts. “Don’t be late!”
The line goes dead before I can tell her to fuck off, and I fist the phone to keep from breaking something as I start to pace.
The last time Mother called us in early, she announced that she’d be taking over as head of the family. The time before that, Uncle Aaron had died in a challenge a few days beforehand. So even though I have no idea what reason she could have this time, I know it’s nothing good.
My dampener starts to chafe at the mere thought of the entire Cross line packed into one house. It’ll be a miracle if we can make it to sunrise without killing each other.
I pry at the heavy leather as it bears down on my Adam’s apple, wishing I could be free of this cursed thing.
It’s been getting worse lately. Every little thought sends it constricting around my throat like a boa. The only thing I’ve found to ease the tension is?—
“Iris?”
Her name slips from my lips as I catch the scent of her smoke and honey wafting in from the hallway. The grip on my phone loosens as I check the time.
She’s early, and she’s moving fast.
She must be hungry.
I’m on my feet before she reaches the door, but she doesn’t bother knocking.
She strides into the room, uninvited, and my dampener eases off my throat. But the relief is short-lived as I register the scowl on her face.
“You know what’s funny?” She spins on me, arms crossed, hip hitched. “I should’ve known better.”
Okay, this is not a friendly visit.
I shut the door and ready myself for the onslaught.
“Actually, no,” she says, waving a finger at me. “Idoknow better! That’s the worst part. I only agreed to this because I thought you could keep it in your pants for five minutes.” Her eyes roll exaggeratedly as she shrugs. “Silly of me, I know. Why would I expect such a thing when I’m expected to feed from you andonlyyou? That’s silly, right?”
I don’t get a chance to answer.
“Gods, I can’t believe you!” she snaps, throwing her hands up.
Her bag falls to the floor as she starts to pace.
Is this a joke? If so, it’s not funny.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
She whirls, her midnight eyes blazing as she stalks across the room to stand in front of me.
“Spare me the innocent act. I know you get around. It’s no secret. But I thought for five minutes—” her hands clench and her eyes shut ”—I thought I could trust you forfiveminutes.”
She swallows hard, fingers curling into fists at her sides.
It takes a lot for her to get those words out. After she’s done, I can see she wishes she could take them back. Reel them in and say something ordinary instead. Like, ‘fuck you.’ But it’s too late.
“Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Okay?”
“Don’t. Call me that,” she hisses. “And don’t play dumb. I know you’re fucking Tara Bridale.”
“W-who?” The dampener tightens, stunting my words, and all I can do is stare at her as she shakes her head.
