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Tarnley

Bronywyn’s form covered in a stark white bedsheet is something that will be seared into my memory for as long as I live. Her breathing is steady, her pulse strong, but thanks to some of her own knock-out tonic, we’ve put her into a deep sleep.

Machines beep, though the noise barely registers. The bullet wounds were easy enough to clean, the gauze covering them the only remaining evidence of her injury. If I don’t focus on the machines, on the anti-magic cuffs binding her to the bed, I can almost pretend she’s simply sleeping.

I’m exhausted, my eyes heavy, but I don’t dare sleep. I only hope when she next wakes, she will be the woman I love and not the monster she was conditioned into becoming. Though every time she’s come to since Rainey shot her three days ago, she’s been the shadow.

A blood-thirsty monster who wants nothing more than revenge. As it has more times than I can count over the past few days, my mind drifts over the horrific things that could have been done to her in order to cause such a drastic change.

What did they do that ripped away her hope and made her believe that getting rid of her humanity was the only means for survival? I drop my head and will the images to leave my brain.

Her chained in a basement.

Bloody.

Broken.

Being beaten into submission.

Every single scenario is so much worse than the previous one.

“How is she?”

I jump, not at all expecting to see Rainey entering the hall.

“Damn, thought you had super hearing?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” My voice is barely recognizable even to me, my lack of sleep sharpening my tone.

As she stops beside me and looks through the glass at the woman on the other side, the aroma of fresh, buttery popcorn combined with something sweet fills my lungs. She offers me the bag, but I shake my head. “You have to eat, Tarnley. Blood, real food, it’s all important.”

“I don’t need anything but her to wake up.”

“A lot of good you’re going to do her if you starve to death before then.” She shoves some popcorn into her mouth. It’s then I realize the sweet smell wasn’t the popcorn itself but rather the colored candies mixed right in the bag.

I’m not sure whether to be intrigued or disgusted. Arching an eyebrow, I stare back at her. “Are those Skittles? In popcorn?”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, my friend.” She offers me the bag again.

“No thanks.”

“Still mad at me for shooting her, then?”

I shake my head, slightly amused because only Rainey Astor can make pumping three bullets into someone sound as casual as stealing the last of the fries from a baking tray. An argument she and Elijah had just last night. “I know why you did it. I just really wish we knew how to bring her—the real her—back.”

“Fearghas and Del are out scouring all the shady joints for Ridley while Cole monitors our new favorite council members. As soon as they find the fae bastard, we can figure out just what the hell is going on with your girl.”

Your girl.Damn, that sounds good. “Thanks.” Since Rainey killed the council member who did this to Bronywyn, the witches elected three new members to their head. Three bastards who are keen on getting their hands on the woman before me.

Over my fucking dead body.

It’s been three days, and they’ve already re-grouped. And according to Cole, Odette, the woman who approached Rainey and Elijah and tried to convince them to kill Bronywyn, is nowhere to be seen.How convenient.

“You really do need to eat. And before you say anything in argument, you need to remember just which Astor you’re dealing with. I’m not like Del; I won’t smile softly and nod, knowing you need your space. Keep denying yourself sustenance, and you’re going to wake up tied to a bed with me shoveling food and blood down your gullet until you choke on it.”

Turning toward her, I arch an eyebrow again. Not because I doubt her threat—no, I can damn near guarantee she’s being a thousand percent honest—but because over the last few months, Rainey has become even more of a friend to me. Hell, I trust her just as much as I trust Elijah. Which, believe me, is saying a fuck-ton. “That sounds violent.”

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