“Fine,” I grit out. My voice chokes, and I realize with a wave of horror that I’m going to cry. I clear my throat roughly. “Make a run for it. See how far you get.”
I stumble out of the room, stopping in the nearest hallway. Only once I’m out of sight do I allow a few tears to fall. It’s pathetic—I know that. I just can’t seem to stop it.
Life has always been unfair to me, but this is unjustly cruel. Having Elliot this close, seeing his blatant hatred of me…It’s a punishment fit for a villain, not for me.
I lean against the wall, breathing slowly. Silently.
I can’t see into the entryway from my position, but there’s a window that reflects most of the room. I can see the goons, still unmoving on the floor, and I can see Elliot, shifting on his feet. He keeps looking my way, as if expecting me to reappear.
He takes two steps toward me.
Roughly shakes his head.
Turns and marches through the front door.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Mineto protect.
I run after him, hands already trembling. Even if he doesn’t want me to follow, he’ll have to let me. He’ll be too busy fighting off vampires to worry about fighting me. If I can convince him to work together, we should be able to make it.
Except we reek.
They’ll smell us immediately.
We’ll beluckyif they bring us to Sebastian.
I throw open the front door. I’ve barely stepped through it when Elliot crashes back inside—and into me. I stumble backwards, and it’s only his hands on my elbows that keep me from falling.
He’s touching me.
No. He’sholdingme.
“Let go,” I say. My voice is breathy, unfamiliar, even to my own ears.
“Sorry,” he says.
He releases me. Steps back. Allows a gasp of breath between us. All the while, I stare at him, breathing hard, palms tightened into fists.
“You were coming after me,” he says, and it comes out like an accusation.
“Well, yeah,” I snap. “You were going to get yourself killed.”
“And?” he asks. There’s no anger from his word, only nakedcuriosity. “Wouldn’t your folk celebrate the murder of Madam Lyrie’s son?”
My folk? Maybe.
Me?
“It would start a war,” I say. It’s not a lie. “So come inside. I’ll give you a place to sleep. Once the sun is up, you’ll be safe to leave.”
“Fine,” he says. The word is muddled by his clenched jaw. “I’ll stay. But if you lock me up?—”
“Trust me,” I interrupt. “I’m more eager for you to leave than you are.”
6
SECORA REED CLEARLY DESERVES IT
