Page 17 of Fangs & Freaks
He shrugs, but there’s unease in the way his shoulders stiffen. “What do you want me to say? You’re the one who seems to know all about her. All I’ve got is the little tidbits you’ve decided to share, which, by the way, haven’t exactly painted a clear picture.”
“I’ve told you enough,” I snap, setting the glass down hard enough to rattle the table. “She’s dangerous, Blackwell. The kind of dangerous that doesn’t stop with the person who called her. She’s a fucking ripple effect of chaos. If she’s here, if Varys has brought her into our orbit?—”
“She’ll make us bleed,” he finishes, his tone surprisingly serious. He studies me for a moment, his sharp gaze narrowing. “That’s what’s got you spooked, isn’t it? The idea that we might not walk away from this.”
“We always walk away,” I bite out, but the words feel hollow even to me.
He leans against my desk, crossing his arms. “You don’t get rattled often, Warrick. And I’ve seen you face some serious shit. So if this Mary chick has you this worked up, maybe you should fill in the blanks for the rest of us.”
I turn to face him fully now, the fire in my veins flickering hotter. “You don’t want the blanks, Blackwell. Trust me.”
His smirk returns, but it’s softer, tinged with something almost genuine. “Fine. I’ll stick to what I know: she’s here, she’s dangerous, and you’re worried.”
I exhale sharply. “That about covers it.”
He nods, but there’s no humor in his voice when he says, “So, what’s the plan?”
I pick up the glass again, swirling the blood-wine as I answer. “We hold our ground. And if she comes for us, we make sure she understands one thing.”
“And that is?”
I meet his gaze. “We don’t bleed alone.”
Chapter Eight
Varys
I wake with a start,the air around me thick and suffocating. I was dreaming of her… again. It’s been like every night since I got here. While my body has healed in the days since I arrived, my nights are plagued with restlessness.
Her name lingers in my mind—bitter, sharp, intoxicating. The memory of her voice coils around my mind, taunting me. She’s there every night, a presence I can’t escape, her tone a sick mix of venom and seduction. The dreams always leave me shaken, but tonight feels worse.
Shadows creep across the corners, pooling like spilled ink, and for a moment, I swear I see her.
Bloody Mary.
Her reflection flashes in the tall mirror near the dresser, just at the edge of my vision. She’s there and gone in a blink, but her presence lingers, leaving a faint hum beneath my skin. My breath catches, and I freeze, heart hammering against my ribs.
I shift, groaning, trying to shake off the lingering unease, but when I turn, a sharp chill races through me. The moonlightslants across my chest, illuminating something I can’t quite comprehend.
An oval shape like a mirror is etched into my skin. A dagger pierces through a crescent moon at its center, blood dripping from the blade. The hilt of the dagger bears an intricately carved eye.
I stare, frozen, before my shaking fingers brush against it. The skin is raw and red but not painful, almost like it’s been burned into me.
“Shit.”
I throw off the blankets and stumble to the mirror hanging on the wall. The mark glares back at me from the reflection, an accusation I can’t escape. This isn’t a nightmare anymore.
“Bloody Mary,” I whisper, the name slipping out before I can stop it.
The shadows seem to shift at the sound, curling tighter around me. I should be terrified—Iamterrified—but there’s a strange comfort in it. Like being wrapped in a cold embrace that still manages to feel familiar.
“Pull yourself together,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
But the moment I lower my hand, I see her again. This time, she’s in the corner of the room, just beyond the edge of the light. Her silhouette is faint, blurred, like she’s standing between two worlds. Her eyes—dark and endless—seem to pierce straight through me, and her lips curl into the faintest hint of a smile.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Her form flickers, and then she’s gone again, leaving nothing but the soft rustle of the curtains and the steady drip of water from the bathroom faucet.
