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Desmond released my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, tugging me tight against his side. I hated knowing that my bad moods were affecting him enough that he had to bring this up. I’d believed I could get through it all on my own without involving Desmond or Holden, but it seemed that I wasn’t being nearly as covert as I thought I’d been. I had to admit, too, that I appreciated his concern. He had stuck it out this long, seeing me at my worst, and he wanted to do whatever it took for me to be happy again. He loved me, and he wanted me to be better. I loved him and I wanted to be better for him. And for myself.
I breathed in his scent, the earthy sweetness mixed with a lingering lime tang that was unique to Desmond. Well, to me and Desmond. It was the way my inner wolf recognized him as my soul-bonded mate. We’d lost our connection once, and now that I had it back I loved to be reminded of it whenever I could. It wasn’t a scent, so much as a burst of flavor in my mouth.
I adored it, and adored him, and in that moment I knew I would do anything at all to keep him with me. If he wanted me to jump, I’d say how high. Now he wanted me to get help, and I had to do it. I couldn’t help myself, and I wouldn’t let him help me, so I needed to find someone who could.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
I took a deep breath, licking my lips to savor him, then bumped my forehead against his shoulder. “Hey.”
He looked down, rubbing his chin on the crown of my head, his stubble raking over my hair. “Hey.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“I know you will, babe.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.” He smiled, and though it was just the slightest turn of his lips, it lit his eyes in a way that made me feel warm all the way to the bottom of my toes. I would do anything in my power to keep him smiling. Anything, as long as it didn’t put me at risk of falling apart completely.
“I’m glad you stuck it out with me,” I confessed.
He kissed my forehead, and we turned onto a major street, now looking more like the stereotypical American couple in Paris. I could imagine how people saw us, my beautiful, masculine boyfriend who just oozed sex appeal and strength, and me, a small, unassuming blonde. Most times I used to laugh to myself about how people would misjudge my power. I didn’t feel like the powerful one between us right now though, but that would change.
There was a tough bitch inside me, both literally and figuratively. And when I killed Alexandre Peyton and felt his blood stain my hands, I hoped that bitch would come to the surface again and kick this sad, mopey, useless version of myself back into action.
Back at the hotel, Desmond called room service—one of us still had to eat—and I laid my weapons out on the bed, taking inventory of what I had. The sword, stil
l in its scabbard, called to me like a siren. Even though it had just been on my back, I reached out and ran my fingers down the smooth black surface. I’d fed the blade its fair share of blood in the years since I’d gotten the weapon, but she and I would go into the fire together one more time at least.
We had another head to collect, and I knew she was the right tool for the job.
Pulling my hand back, I checked my two guns, both SIG P226s, and a half dozen spare clips. I was grateful we had access to one of the Rain Industry jets thanks to Desmond’s position within the company. Flying privately meant we didn’t have to account for all the bullets. It also helped my claustrophobic anxiety not to share the space with a hundred other people.
It still didn’t seem like enough. I couldn’t bring in a whole arsenal with me, but I’d have strapped a rocket launcher to my back if it had been possible. Hell, if there was a way to drag a crossbow, a rifle, a machine gun and broadsword with me, I would have brought it all.
And at the same time, I’d have gone in with nothing but my bare hands.
It didn’t matter what I brought, because I knew I was going to destroy Peyton. I’d rip him apart with only my nails and teeth if that was all I had. When I was sixteen, I’d fought him off with little more and lived to tell the tale.
Funny, I might be struggling to find my inner strength again, but I knew I had it in me to walk away from a fight to the death with Peyton. I might be falling apart, but when the pieces fell away, there was something at the core of me that didn’t rely on humanity or personality.
Secret McQueen was a person, but at the center of that was my being. I was two monsters, the wolf and the vampire, and the two had learned to coexist. Maybe someday the woman would be functional again, but my monsters didn’t need mental stability or emotional well-being to function. They needed blood, they needed rage, and they needed my body.
I could provide those things.
Oh, I could provide those things by the buttload.
Chapter Six
My phone woke me up, recalling me from my nightmares before they could fully take shape. Night must be on the cusp of rising, or the ringtone—Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy”—wouldn’t have cut through my daytime sleep.
The caller ID screen said it was my grandmere calling, which was strange enough to bring me to complete alertness in a snap. I hit the answer button and held the receiver to my ear. “Grandmere? What time is it there?”
Her voice sounded strained. “Oh, je ne sais pas.” She paused. “Just before noon.”
“Are you okay? Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know, bebe. Something is bothering me.”
