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She’s acting the way someone would act who’s gone their whole life never knowing what it feels like to have someone care whether they live or die.
My fucking chest is throbbing. I bring my glass to my lips and toss the amber liquid back without tasting it. Again.
“None of it touched us,” she finally answers, frowning like she still doesn’t know if Soren’s question was genuine.
“It landed around us but—” She shrugs. Like it’s no big deal to make solid wood beams explode with her mind while somehow keeping every piece of wood from touching her.
And me.
“That’s badass,” Branwen grins. “I wish I could make things explode.”
Idril gives her a sheepish look. “I don’t know how I did it, though. I’ve never done anything like that. Not until tonight. Now it's… it’s like all these weird things keep happening, and I know I’m doing it, but I don’t know how. Or why.”
She peeks up at Soren, who still hasn’t responded. I can see Daxen curling his hands into fists under the table, trying to physically hold himself back from jumping into the conversation.
Soren frowns, turning to Gav. “Back up a second. Start at the beginning. I know about Caelan, and why my Mate is here, but what does this have to do with her father or the missing Omegas?”
“Simple. Her father is injecting the missing Omegas with Idril’s blood. We believe he’s trying to pass her abilities to other Omegas. And breed them. Can’t forget that fun little detail.”
Dax drops the bomb like it’s nothing.
“Saint Michael, defend us...” Kane crosses himself.
I finish my third drink and pour another.
Idril’s so pale she’s nearly translucent. Outside, the clouds part and the light of the nearly full moon shines brightly through the windows, bathing her skin in a glow that sends shivers down my spine.
I can’t look away from her.
She’s beautiful. Even now, with those wide, frightened eyes and delicate features, she looks like a fairy princess.
“He’s kidnapped dozens of Omegas,” Dax continues, and Idril physically recoils.
“I didn’t know he was doing that!” She spins in her chair, turning to Soren with wide, frantic eyes. “I didn’t know. I swear. I just found out about the blood tonight. Right before you arrived. It’s why I was in the cell. I agreed to be there. It’s the safest place, until we can find answers and I can get this—this—whatever it is, under control.”
She’s panicking, eyes wet with unshed tears a breath away from falling.
Fuck, why is she so beautiful when she’s about to cry?
“Pretty little stories,” I murmur, taking another pull from my drink.
Daxen shoots me a look, then whispers, “Are you drinking your feelings?”
“Don’t mock my coping strategy,” I toss back. “It’s vintage.”
All eyes snap to me, and too late I realize I forgot to whisper that last part. Actually... I’m pretty sure I shouted it.
“The whiskey. It’s vintage.” When no one responds, I shrug, lift my glass in a mock toast and toss it back.
Again.
Kane grunts, looking at me like I’m full of shit. “Aye, vintage. Ye drink like a man twice yer age and sulk like a lad half it.”
Branwen coughs to cover her laughter, and Kane shoots her a wink.
Those two are going to get annoying fast.
Which means I’ll have to off one of them. No help for it. And it’ll have to be the wolven, obviously. Can’t off an Omega. Definitely can’t get rid of Idril’s only friend. That’ll make her cry....
