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“And the second condition?” asks Jones.
I snatch the onion rings into my lap. “You share some of these with me.”
“Deal,” Saint and Jones say at the same time.
* * *
I’m notready to return to Adrienne’s room after I leave the wolves, to sit alone in silence as those four walls close in on me. So not knowing where else to go, I explore. Upon first glance, the Auclair estate has countless similarities with the Carrington, but the more I walk, the more differences I notice. Everything here is so much…bigger.
A shaky breath passes my lips as I crest a set of stairs leading to the roof. The tower is on the south end of the property, so it has a nice vantage point overlooking the estate, a full expanse of mountains and trees set out below.
The gardens, for example, are farther out on the property here than at the Carrington estate, so looking at them from the yard made them seem much smaller than they are. Looking at them from above gives a much better view. They stretch on for acres, separated into a few different levels with grassy stairs, benches, and water features intermixed with the rows of plants and flowers.
I think of the new violin Reid got me, discarded somewhere in his room now. As much as I’d like to find a place to camp out down there, I don’t think I could bring myself to play it. It wouldn’t clear my mind. It would just remind me of everything that’s too painful to think about right now.
I fiddle with my ring, flipping the blade in and out. After a few cycles of it, the knife pricks the side of my finger. A single drop of blood wells, but you’d think by the amount of power that surges through me that I was close to bleeding out, using every last ounce of magic in my blood that I have. My breath catches in my throat, the heat building, tingling, expanding in my chest, the magic ready togo, go, go. Ready to claim, to kill, to conquer. Nothing would be too much. Nothing would be too hard if I just let itgo.
I smear the blood away with the pad of my thumb and force down a deep breath.
What the hell is going on?
“Valerie Darkmore.”
I gasp and spin around, steadying myself against the stone railing.
A dark-haired man I don’t recognize stands at the door to the stairs. An Auclair Marionette, judging by his uniform. He stares at me with a dazed look in his eyes, like he’s not seeing me at all.
Like he’s been glamoured.
I can’t believe I let my guard down so much that I didn’t hear him come up. All those years of training…I should know better than that.
“I come with a message,” he says before I can make a move for the door.
The dried blood lingering on my skin pulses, my skin warming as if my magic is reminding me it’s there, urging me to make another cut. My finger remains poised over the blade. “What message?”
“From your father.”
I tense, casting a quick glance around the rest of the roof. But of course Westcott isn’there.He wouldn’t expose himself, put himself at risk like that. Using others to do his dirty work has always been more his style.
It’s unsurprising that he knows I’m here, given the state of the Carrington estate and how most people were brought here after evacuating.
“He wanted to say he’s sorry for how things have played out. Certain events have been regrettable, and he wants you to know you will still have a place with him when you decide to return.”
I scoff.When.
You will still have a place with him—as if he hadn’t kicked me out and sent me to live with a bunch of wolves who spent the last few months relishing in tormenting me. As if I’d left of my own volition instead of being drugged and smuggled into the back of a van.
“Your mother and sister are anxiously waiting for your return, so if not for him, think about their sake, as well as your own. The Auclair estate will not be a safe haven for much longer. None of the estates will be. But he recognizes he cannot save someone who does not want to be saved. The choice must be yours. But know this: this is only the beginning. This is only the first.”
Only the first?Before I can puzzle out the meaning, the man walks forward. I shrink away, but he’s not heading toward me. He’s not looking at me at all anymore.
And there’s not a single moment of hesitation as he crests the railing at the edge and jumps.
A scream gets caught in my throat, and it takes several seconds before the shock releases my limbs. I hurry to the railing, my hand covering my mouth as I brace myself and look down. The man is splayed out on his stomach on the concrete, a halo of blood already spreading around him. Voices echo somewhere below me, and I hit the stairs at a run.
Others are crowded around when I reach the ground, craning their necks to see where he’d jumped from. I kneel at his side, his blood soaking through my pants, and press my fingers to his throat.
But there’s no pulse. No breathing.
