“Helpful.”
His expression sobers as he sits forward. Light grey eyes pin me in place. “You’re our guest while we work out what to do with you.”
That doesn’t sound terrifying at all.
I debate asking anything else, not sure I want to know the answers, but curiosity is a fucker. And at least Flint seems in the mood to talk. “What are my options?”
“You really want to know?”
Nope. Probably not.
“Yes?” I hate how uncertain I sound, but I’m fucking clueless here.
He snorts at my lack of conviction, then shuffles the chair forward so his arms are resting on the bed next to me.
Far too close.
“You’re a liability, Morgan. We don’t have any humans in this club for a reason. This isn’t a secret we share with anyone who isn’t either club, pack, or another shifter.”
So no humans at all.
Fuck.
I mean I’d guessed as much, but I’m not sure I like where this is headed.
“And now we have you.”
Flint splays his fingers out, and ever so slowly, a claw slides out from his index finger. I wince because, jeez, that looks like ithurts, but his expression doesn’t so much as flicker. He taps the sheet, and I can’t tear my gaze away from that one solitary claw. It feels more menacing than if he had all five out.
It takes me three attempts to find my voice. “I won’t tell anyone.” I mean it. Not even Ash. If he wasn’t in danger before, he definitely would be if I tell him about this.
“I believe you,” Flint says. Then he sighs and my stomach sinks. “But I’m not the only one who needs convincing.”
“Lynx, right?” That sinking feeling gets stronger by the second.
Flint hums. “Maybe not even him. You see, in a matter like this, it’ll be put to a vote.”
“What will?”
He gives me a pointed look.
Oh god.
Me.
My life.
Should’ve kept my mouth shut or lied.
“Who votes?” I ask, not that it matters.
“The club’s inner circle. Lynx, Callum, Me, Jet, and Mal.”
Pretty sure at least three of those hate me.
I close my eyes and rest my head back against the pillows.
I’m fucked. Totally and utterly fucked.
