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Do something to burn off this energy that doesn’t involve letting them four-way fuck whatever’s left of my common sense.
I haven’t even looked at the packets Catherine emailed. I’m tooling around, playing house while the clock ticks on my heat.
Stupid.
The Wyverns’ scents cling to me like a freaky fruit salad—apples, oranges, and honey—and I dodge alphas, sprinting to the pool like that water’s my only salvation.
It’s been way, waaaay too long.
The pool’s dim and totally empty. I strip off my clothes on a jog.
Someone’s behind me, but I sense it’s one of them, otherwise my instincts wouldn’t be shouting to jump into their arms instead of the water.
I cannonball.
The water splashes, and I hug my knees, sinking, sinking, sinking until I hit bottom.
The water swallows me.
I’m waiting for the release. That cozy, suffocating nothing feeling that’ll blot out the Wyverns and the threats and the cursed fucking heat rushing through my veins.
My heart doesn’t slow.
My temperature doesn’t cool.
Because instead of zoning out, I flash back to the last time I was underwater.
In the fucking barrel.
Wet.
Hot.
Pain.
TWENTY-FIVE
FINN
Lilah explodes into the water.
I start counting seconds.
The seconds until she comes up. The seconds until I can show her my surprise. The seconds until I can make her mine.
That’s why I notice the exact second Lilah jerks.
Angry bubbles froth to the surface, and she kicks but goes nowhere.
More bubbles.
My heart gnaws at my ribs.
Fuck waiting another second.
I dive deep into the gray.
Lilah’s blush lips are dark, almost purple, and she grips her throat, flailing instead of swimming.
