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“That’s not fair.”
I snort.Fair.Since when has any of this been fair?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a different version of me knows she’s right, that I’m being a bitch to her for no reason. But I can’t stop, and that version of me is currently drowning in whiskey and self-pity, and it’s all too easy to block her out.
I push to my feet. Adrienne reaches out as if to catch me, but I keep moving.
“Where are you going?”
“Training.” I swing the door open.
“I—training? You can’t show up like this.”
“Like he’ll care.”
“You know what? Fine.” Adrienne throws her hands up, then stomps out ahead of me. I expect her to keep going, but she stops in the middle of the hall, crosses her arms over her chest, and taps her foot.
“I really don’t need an escort.”
“Think of me as a babysitter then.”
I push past her, the gashes in my hand burning as they heal. Blood dribbles along my path as I head for the sprawling grounds behind the estate.
Despite being here for weeks, the winding corridors of Auclair haven’t gotten any more familiar. Or maybe it’s because I’ve spent little time navigating them sober.
Adrienne breathes down my neck the entire way, her body heat rolling off her in waves. The scent is too appetizing for comfort. I clear my throat and loosen my collar. As irritating as she’s been, I don’t think sinking my fangs into her jugular would improve the situation.
Especially with how much my body remembers how good her blood tasted, even if my mind can’t.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I ask.
“It’s Saturday.”
“Shouldn’t you at least be at the academy then? Socialize. You’ll never make friends if you keep coming back here all the time.”
“I have friends,” she says with an indignant lift of her nose.
I grunt to refrain from saying something I’ll regret later.
My shoulders hunch as we step outside. The wind’s had a bite to it most days now with winter rolling in. I’m just grateful we haven’t seen any snow yet. Harsh white stadium lights illuminate the grounds, blotting out the stars and moon overhead.
A single man stands in the center of the field, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He lifts his chin an inch to acknowledge my approach.
“Took you long enough,” says Cam.
CHAPTERTWO
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
The blood looksdifferent in the sunlight. It darkens as it dries like ink splotches against the tarmac, more than I’d thought there’d be with the number of casualties.
But then comes the crowd. So many people, voices, hands pulling me this way and that, car headlights as SUVs blur before me. I don’t resist as I’m shoved into a back seat.
None of the Russians who’d been trying to kidnap me are in sight.
Because they’re all dead.
The others talk among themselves, their voices not registering enough to process the words.
