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Her look might have changed, but the smug superiority hadn’t gone anywhere.
“Morgan?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Morgan Scott.
Werewolf, and at one time Lucas’s third-in-command.
Of course, that was before she hired assassins to kill me and managed to shoot Desmond at my wedding ceremony. I thought I’d seen the last of her when she’d been exiled to Siberia, but apparently it was impossible to keep a bad bitch down.
Another fine example of why being merciful got me nowhere.
I kept my gun up, not trusting her for a second. “What are you doing here, Morgan?”
“Nice to see you too.” She picked up her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder, then untucked an old Ruger handgun from her waistband.
What was she doing here? There was no way she’d come because she heard what was happening. Getting into the city had to be damn near impossible at this point, and flights anywhere in the vicinity of New York were likely being rerouted to other states. We’d only been able to land because we got in so soon after shit hit the fan.
No, Morgan must have already been here.
Or she came with them.
Given her all-black ensemble and the new shorter do, seeing her as a biker’s old lady wasn’t a hard stretch of the imagination. And I trusted her so little, my brain latched on to the idea of her being one of the bad guys and wouldn’t let go.
“Simmer down. I’m not here to finish the job.”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking about her assassination attempt. “It didn’t go great for you last time, did it?”
“Yeah, but I’d like to point out you’re not surrounded by a legion of werewolf bodyguards this time.”
“She wouldn’t need them,” Holden added, his voice cold with malice.
“Of course not. Not with a big scary vampire by her side.” She rolled her eyes, completely unmoved by his apparent threat.
“What are you doing here?” I repeated, my voice edging towards shrillness. I had prepared myself for a great number of contingencies to happen tonight, but bumping into a werewolf who ought to be in Siberia was not a worst-case scenario I’d thought of.
“I’m here to help.”
“Like fucking hell you are. Caught the first flight into JFK when you saw the news on CNN? No, tell me the truth, or I hedge my bets and assume you’re guilty of something. You usually are.”
“Okay, okay. Jesus, nice to see you’ve mellowed out since the last time I saw you. So, there’s a chance I didn’t come just to help.”
“Probably because you’re one of them.”
“Wow, dramatic conspiracy theory much?”
“The simplest explanation is almost always the right one,” Holden said. Nice to see he’d been thinking the same thing. “Seems a little suspicious you would happen to show up the exact same time as the necromancers.”
Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened slightly. “Man. Suddenly all this stuff makes a lot more sense. I didn’t think necromancers were real.”
“What did you think all the moving corpses were then?” I asked.
“Zombies. What the hell else would I think when the streets are packed with walking dead people.” She gave me a look that suggested I was the stupid one here.
Seriously, did no one know zombies weren’t real? Was I the only one who paid attention to what other supernatural critters populated our world? People could have saved themselves a lot of headaches and trouble if they took the time to know what was real and what wasn’t. Zombies? Horror-story fodder. Necromancers? Totally a legit thing.
But either she was a phenomenal actress, or she didn’t know about the necros.
