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Now even the dream I couldn’t admit to myself is dead.
I have other reasons to survive.
Like my burning desire to grind Bridget Fissure’s face in gravel.
To escape the SAS and figure out who I want to be when I’m not hiding behind a mask to survive.
I want to travel, learn to make every kind of pasta, and live long enough to read the final chapter in my favorite APOCALIPS smut fic.
But I feel hollow.
The point of pretending to be someone else was to stop the hurt.
I should’ve known Serafina Redfang couldn’t be a shield.
She’s a diamond-encrusted knife to the heart.
Eventually, I climb out of the hole and shake off the shadow of my past.
After I wipe my face, I call room service for a vat of coffee and a breakfast sandwich, extra greasy.
Fuck family, first loves, and freaky special abilities.
Cheese and caffeine are the only things keeping me going.
* * *
Serafina was scheduled for a mud wrap and a six-hand massage with three betas who want to touch my skin and rub gunk on my scars.
Hell no.
I shut it down, only grudgingly letting the spa staff give me a manicure and some lighter blonde highlights to perfect my costume. I need to be more-than-perfect if I’m going to fool Nikolaj.
Between treatments, I duck into the changing room to re-up my lemon.
The nausea passes, but the itch deepens, crawling beneath another layer of skin.
I breathe through the ick.
Only a few more hours.
With black, coffin-tipped gel nails decked in real diamonds—that at this point I’m assuming are from the Redfang blood mine—I hole up in the penthouse linen closet with a towel around my throat and the syringe clutch strapped under my robe.
If I can’t be comfortable in my skin, I at least need to be comfortable in my role. Desperate for a distraction, I snoop through Serafina’s phone.
My sister has a running text with HOUSEKEEPER, who I assume brings whatever she vomits into the chat, whether she wants snacks or whole people.
honey mustard pretzels
thongs (not the itchy ones)
shotgun shells
Colton and Jack but tell Xander it’s a threesome and he’s not invited until he’s man enough to eat ass
coconut water
no, the other coconut water, the one with the fucking green coconut on the label you utter walnut cunt
