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“They’ve just crossed the halfway mark and should be landing soon,”
“I’ll be there before they arrive; let the others know,”
“Yes, Pres,”
I kill the call, and my hands fall to my sides, slowly balling into fists. This is the worst fucking thing that could ever happen; the entire council will be in town because of what Pres did.
They’re all confident about this plan, but if there’s one thing that I’ve learned, it’s that once you get a slimy feeling about someone, no amount of sob stories will take it away.
This Amara bitch is lying about something.
Leaning over the stone balustrade, I watch as Valentine walks with her to his car and opens the door for her. There’s some hectic sexual tension between the two of them, and it fucking pisses me off.
He’s tasted her blood, so he trusts her word, but I know a soul sucker when I see one. Christ, why won’t anyone listen to me about this?!
“Deep in thought there, Beast,” Xenia’s voice comes up behind me just as Valentine drives off and I turn my head to face them.
“Yeah,” I grumble and pick up the glass of bourbon on the stone balustrade and bring it to my lips. I don’t enjoy brushing Xenia off, but right now I have too much on my mind.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I turn my head to face them, narrowing my eyes at what I can tell is a concern in their voice. “Why would you want to listen to my gripes? I thought you hated me,” I say, raising my eyebrow.
They brace their elbows on the balustrade and let out a sigh. “I don’t hate you, Church. What gave you that idea?”
“You almost had me killed and asked for a potion to sever our Fated Bond. I don’t know, that feels like hatred and aversion to me,” I say, emptying my glass and setting it down again.
When Valentine told me what Xenia did and how he took my blood and gave it to them as a placebo potion, I nearly lost it. But then I found out they didn’t even take it and somehow that gave me some hope.
Now, I’m not so sure…
“That wasn’t hatred, it was fear,” Xenia says, looking down at the guards patrolling below. “I was raised to hate your type and kill them, only to find myself attracted to you even after you held me prisoner. If that doesn’t scream Stockholm Syndrome, then what does?”
“Only that wasn’t the case; we’re Fated—”
“I know that,” they interject, shaking their head. “And that somehow scared me even more. Why couldn’t I just let it go and take the potion? Why was I still holding on?”
I sigh at the question, remembering my own turmoil at seeing the Red Thread and how not telling Pres about it created a fucked up domino effect. He’s in this mess because of my choice, and I need to do everything I can to help him, even if he refuses to see what I see.
“Why do they call you Church?” Xenia suddenly asks, changing the subject so drastically and giving me fucking whiplash.
I swallow hard; the memories inching into my peripheral, and it takes everything in me to push them back down.
“Because that’s where the Pres found me before he saved my life - covered in the blood of the people who murdered my family and holding a knife to my own throat.”
Xenia’s eyes widen, and they actually turn to look at me. “That’s horrific. Murdered your family?”
I nod. “Think of something similar to the Donner Party,” I reply, looking down at my hands and seeing them covered in blood again.
It took me decades to learn to control my anger, but whenever I think back and see my little sisters laying in a pool of their own blood, the fury burns hot in my chest. Pres helped me through it, but it’s still there, brimming on the surface and hidden behind a cocky smile.
“So,” Xenia breathes, blinking rapidly. “If Church isn’t your real name, what is?”
I chuckle, about to utter a name I haven’t used since I was human. “Nikolas Mason. Yours?”
“Xenia Blake,” they reply, quickly looking away. I notice the redness on their cheeks and that they’re refusing to meet my gaze again for some reason, so I change the subject.
“What do you identify as?”
