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The current feeling that was wreaking the most havoc on my psyche was guilt. I could recognize it easily enough now. I had first felt it over the death of my parents, and my inability to avenge them as a cub. I had successfully repressed those feelings over the years by burying them in a relentless onslaught of murder, females, and whiskey. It had come back with a vengeance after I had betrayed Raven in exchange for my freedom from our bond.
The guilt had honestly surprised me in that instance. I had done much worse than what I had done to her in my years working for Korrick and the Ironclad Company.
I wasn’t sure what it was about Raven that made me give somewhat of a fuck about what happened to her, outside of my own selfish desire not to die if she died.
I guess she reminded me of myself a little. She was angry, violent, and honestly, kind of funny, when she wasn’t busy trying to actually be a good person. Something I had been hoping she would grow out of eventually, until today.
‘Wi gon’ lose her, if wi let har continue dis.’ The Obeah Man had whispered into my mind when he had come to find her in the dungeon. I had been so wrapped up in my own shit that I hadn’t noticed. She was teetering so close to the edge, one small breath in the wrong direction would have sent her tumbling over.
I had always thought I preferred her when she was pissed off. At that moment, I realized that I didn’t want her to be pissed off. I wanted her to be happy, and back with her asshole mate, where she belonged.
Teaching her how to torture the widowmaker had initially been exciting. I had thought hurting it would have made us both feel better, as torture and violence so often did…for me at least. But it hadn’t.
All I could see with each piece of skin I flayed, was the fear in Kasha’s eyes as that evil fucking bitch passed her off to Kieran. The callous way she had done it made my blood boil.
‘Make sure she is healed quickly so we can get her back to work.’ She had said it as if Kasha were nothing more than some kind of toy. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I had been too weak to get to her.
I snarled at the memory and slammed my fist into the rock wall, stone crumbling into the basin of the tub. My knuckles sliced open only to immediately heal again. I watched as my red blood mixed with the filthy black remnants of the widowmaker.
I had not been expecting the forced shift. I was used to feeling pain, and honestly, I could push through most things. You get used to it, when you’re faced with as little consequence to bodily harm as I am. If you can mend broken bones in seconds, you stop worrying about breaking them after a while.
But the shift is a full body experience. It affects all bones and all organs. Your skull reshapes, your heart grows larger, your skin turns inside out and your teeth rip through your gums. Shifters are taught from a young age to respect the shift, and to do so sparingly, as even our regenerative abilities are not enough to bring you back if you overdo it.
I now resented that lesson. Avoiding shifting had made me fucking soft. Maybe if I had worked at it, and conditioned myself, I would not have buckled like a fucking pussy. Maybe I would have been able to save her.
That horrible feeling, that I was becoming more and more familiar with, swelled in my chest again. I slammed my fist into the wall a second time, grinding my knuckles against the rough stone, intentionally shredding them against the rock.
The pain brought me back to reality, and I forced myself to shake off the memories and get out of the shower.
That sure as fuck wouldn’t be happening again.
I toweled off and slid into my jeans before making my way to the wardrobe that seemed to magickally fill with an endless supply of white cotton t-shirts. My room was similar to all the other bedrooms that made up the East Wing, though my view was decidedly not as nice as Raven’s. I guess there were some perks to being Queen of the fucking world.
My motorcycle boots went on next before I headed out into the hall, the beginnings of a plan forming in my head.
My gaze fell on the doors to Meredith and Conrad’s rooms as I made my way toward the heart of the East Wing. For my plan to work, I was going to need a bit of an extra boost. I sniffed the air and smirked, pleased to find that neither of them were in their rooms.
I would start with the green witch’s room. She was the most likely to have what I needed.
After a quick but thorough search of both rooms, I came up empty. Rubbing the back of my neck, I wondered mildly if the witch had moved her supplies into the slave’s room for easier access while she tended to her patient.
I sighed. That would make things a little bit more difficult, but not impossible. I took another deep inhale as I entered the main intersection of the East Wing. The thundering waterfalls that fell through the opening in the ceiling somewhat inhibited my view of the opposite hallway.
I allowed my olfactory nerves to sort through the various scents as they came to me. The crisp glacial water and the smell of fresh moss mixed with the scent of wet stone. Underneath, however, was Meredith’s mint, mixed with Dossidian’s burnt leather and musk. Then there was the slave. The slave smelt like ozone and fresh air. I narrowed my eyes.
Interesting.
As I got closer to the opposite hallway, it became clear that Meredith and Dossidian’s scents were fainter than the slave’s. They were no longer in the room with her. Their aromas flowed down into the common room and mingled with Conrad’s salty ocean scent and Jeremy’s gunpowder and coffee.
Perfect.
They were solving the world’s problems, I was sure, and wouldn’t notice if I took a quick peek in the slave’s room.
Entering the hallway, an even fainter scent hit me, one that stopped me in my tracks, much as it had the day I had first met her. Kasha smelled like catnip and freshly cut summer grass.
It was infuriating, and addicting, and made the hairs on my arms stand up on end. I felt my pupils blow out as I breathed her in.
Her scent was like a fucking drug.
