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Finch grabbed the cart and backed it out of the elevator.
“Sir,” Bran called. “I’ve figured it out. Wait a second, please.”
Finch waited until Bran reached his side. “Excellent. There’s no need to be embarrassed, you
know. It’s quite all right. Now, what was your question?”
Bran nodded, but it seemed Finch’s reassurance was not enough, for he bowed his head and
mumbled something Finch couldn’t understand. To hear him better, Finch bent his head to be
closer to him. Finch wasn’t an overly tall man, but Bran was considerably smaller than he was.
“I didn’t catch that. I’m sorry. A little louder, now. No one will be able to hear you. Once I know,
I’m sure we can sort things out.”
“I hope so,” Bran said. He moved his arm and Finch felt a stinging pain in his neck.
Finch slapped his hand to the spot. “What on earth?”
A strange tightness clenched inside of him, and the world felt as if it was tipping, but then he
realized that it was just him as he crumpled to the ground.
Bran looked down at him dispassionately. His accent shifted from Irish to American. “What
you’re feeling now is a very potent muscle relaxer and paralyzing agent. It’ll last long enough
for me to get away, but not nearly long enough to save you.”
Finch tried to speak, but found his lips and tongue wouldn’t cooperate.
“Yes, speaking is off the table for a bit as well,” Bran went on cheerfully. “This way I can explain
my devious plan without interruptions and still have time to escape. Because you need to know
exactly what I’m doing and why. It’s important.”
Finch could do nothing but lie there and hope he wasn’t about to die. Bran leaned over, pried
his lips open, and pressed something into his cheek. A sweet taste underlaid by something
sharp and bitter flooded his mouth. Finch longed to spit it out, but couldn’t.
“That, Finch Drake, is a heat stimulant. By the time the muscle paralysis wears off, it will start
kicking in.”
Finch’s birth name was a secret, known to nearly nobody. He’d had it legally changed shortly
after arriving in America. “Drake” was not a useful last name to have, especially in Hugh’s
household. How on earth could this small, innocent-looking omega know his real name? He
was fairly sure the only person on the continent who knew it was Geoffrey, because it had
been through him that he’d made the change.
