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I was tired. That was it. I was tired and seeing things. Transference or some such bullshit. I felt guilty and I was projecting it onto others. It was nothing.
It was fine.
It was fine.
I needed to go home. Take a shower. Get some sleep. That’s all.
With a plan in place, I moved on.
And yet….
All I could think about was the look on Malik’s face as he cradled the Omega child in his arms, an Omega child caught partially in his shift, though he was too young to be able to turn wolf.
Can I trust you?
I’d said yes. I didn’t know why.
Why I’d said yes. Why he’d asked. Why he’d shown me what he had.
He didn’t know me. He didn’t know anything about me.
And yet….
There is a prisoner.
In your compound.
The ground swayed beneath my feet.
My head was starting to hurt.
I was going home.
I was going home.
Except I stopped in front of the house that held the prisoner. The one no one talked about. We all knew, sure, and we stayed away, but who they were and what they’d done was need-to-know only.
Santos was there again. Luck of the draw.
Funny how that worked.
He said, “I heard you left.”
“Assignment. That was all.” And, “It was only a couple of days.” And, “It was easy.” And, and, and, “Who’s in there?”
His eyes narrowed. “Who’s in where?”
I felt feverish. Overwarm and overbright. The sun pounded against my skull. There was magic here, oh yes, but it was familiar. I knew it because I knew Ezra. I knew the scent and taste of it. Magic was
(a fingerprint)
unique to… the… user.
The ground rolled.
I took a stumbling step forward.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Santos growled, catching me before I fell.
