I find my ring on the ground nearby, and slide it back on my forefinger. Spinning the band calms me a fraction.
Then I crouch down and peel the mask off. A woman with brown skin and white eyes stares up sightlessly. Her hair is frost blue, and she looks to be in her mid-thirties. Blood from her ravaged throat dots her chin and cheek.
I did that. But I’m used to the sight. It’s what I’m good at.
She was a formidable witch, professionally trained and likely a Level Four. Most Level Three mages are formidable in a fight, while Level Fours are lethal in combat. There are only a handful of Level Five rated mages, and I’d yet to meet one. The only Level Five mage I was aware of also happens to be Red’s grandmother.
I underestimated the ice mage. Had I known she was above a Level Three, I wouldn’t have fucked around.
But no, that’s not what caused me to lose my footing. It was that little redhead. My senses were in overdrive as she drove me to distraction. She was the haze around my head and frankly, around my cock.
I drag a hand through my hair, not caring that I’m likely smearing the silver strands with blood. “Well, thanks to you, this mission is already a fucking disaster,” I growl at the dead woman.
Never mind, I fucked the target’s granddaughter.Never mind, I’m the one who lost control to get my dick wet.
Crouching down, I search the body for anything that can tell me why she was here.
Was the mage here to kill Grandma too? The old man wouldn’t have called in anyone else other than me. It would muddy things up just like this.
No, they wanted the girl, and . . . a recipe?
Finding nothing, I stand and spin the titanium ring around my forefinger.
I don’t know where Grandma is, but I need to find the little redhead. She’s my best chance at getting to Grandma.
My tongue licks my fingers, and past the blood there she is again, her honey, cinnamon desire.
I need to kill Grandma. It’s the only thing that matters to me.
But at the back of my mind, I wonder now that I’ve tasted Red, will once be enough?
Chapter7
The Poison Apple
RED
After running like hell and grabbing the next train back to Boston with my tail tucked between my legs, I find myself pacing the apartment.
Unlike grandma’s grand McMansion, I live in an apartment on the eighth floor, with no elevator and a questionable foundation. Strands of warm Christmas lights ribbon along the walls and ceiling, combating the cold dark of the New England night. My school books lie open, forgotten on the rickety dining table. I adopted the piece of furniture off the street where it’d been abandoned with a ‘free’ sign on it.
I’d tried to study to escape the feelings inside me, but I can’t focus. I can’t calm down. My studies usually completely absorb me, pulling me away from the insanity of life to a place where cold, hard numbers make sense of everything. But it has little to no effect on my racing thoughts.
What the fuck happened? And did I really just fuck a Were?
The sore satisfaction between my legs confirms that.
Were packs live way up in the icy northern territories but are so reclusive, they are never seen in civilization. In fact, they are so rarely spotted, rumors regularly surface that the Weres have all died out.
Maybe I should submit a statement to someplace official, sharing I got fucked by a species people claim is extinct. For posterity . . .
The usual shame of yet another random hookup grips me, except this was the first time I’d fucked someone on my grandmother’s bed. I cover my face with my hands. I’m a fucking monster.
We hadn’t even used a condom. While I’m on birth control, I went to the convenience store on my block to get a plan B pill.
Piling on my shame is a wash of fear and confusion. Some scary ninja demanded I give them a recipe, then tried to kidnap me. On top of that, I haven’t been able to get a hold of Gigi.
I texted and called dozens of times with no response.
