Page 40 of Fangs & Freaks
Blackwell places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "Think of it like this," he says, his voice steady despite the storm brewing in his eyes. “She has Varys… we want him back. She comes to help, he’s with her, and we snatch him back while also destroying the Obsidian. Two deaths, one dagger.”
"Think?" I snap, shrugging off his hand. "She has Varys. They have his fucking sister. And you want me tothink?"
Blackwell’s expression hardens, his icy demeanor cracking just enough to reveal the fury beneath. "Do you have a better fucking idea?"
I hate that he’s right. I hate that every second we waste feels like a lifetime. But I also know that charging into a trap is exactly what the Obsidian Circle wants.
"We call her.” I shake my head, not believing the words I’m saying.
“But on our terms," Blackwell adds.
I bark a bitter laugh. “Our terms? She’s Bloody fucking Mary, for fuck’s sake. She doesn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own.”
“Then we need to be careful," he counters.
The truth of his words settles over me like a lead weight. I hate it. I hate feeling powerless, like a puppet with someone else pulling the strings.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the centuries I’ve been alive, it’s that survival means knowing when to pick your battles.
I take a deep breath, the air burning in my lungs. "Fine. We call her.”
Together, we head back into the office. The mess from my outburst still covers the floor—papers scattered, broken things I don’t remember knocking over. I stop in front of the mirror hanging on the wall. With a deep breath, I place one hand on each side of the frame, my fingers brushing the cool surface of the glass.
“Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.”
Her voice, smooth and laced with amusement, answers.
"Miss me already, boys?" she coos, and I whirl around to see her in the reflection of a goblet, looking freshly fucked and sexy as ever.
"Cut the shit, Bellonna," I snap, my patience fraying with every passing second. "Where is he?"
"Now, now," she purrs, her tone infuriatingly calm. "Is that any way to greet a lady?"
"Where. Is. Varys?"
She laughs, the sound rich and dark, like velvet soaked in blood. "He’s safe. For now."
"This isn’t a game."
"Everything’s a game, darling," she replies, her voice dripping with mockery. "You’re just mad because you’re losing."
Blackwell crosses the room toward the goblet. "We have the Obsidian Circle breathing down our necks."
There's a pause, and for a moment, I think she's going to disappear. But then she speaks, her voice softer, almost contemplative. "You think I don’t care about him? That I’m just some monster playing with her food?"
"If the shoe fits," I bite out.
Her laugh is colder this time, devoid of humor. "You have no idea what I’ve done to keep him safe. To keep all of you safe."
Before I can respond, she lifts her chin, her eyes locking with mine one last time. A flicker of something—regret? Fear?—crosses her face. And then, in a burst of red and black smoke, she vanishes from the goblet.
The weight of her words hangs in the silence that follows.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Varys
The room smellsof sweat and a mix of her and me that feels primal and grounding. Bellonna’s long, dark hair fans across the pillows, an unruly halo framing a killer. Her chest rises and falls with her steady breathing, and I can’t help but trace the curve of her shoulder with my fingers, my touch lingering on the scar of my mark. The sight of her, raw and unguarded, knowing she’s mine, fills me with something dangerously close to love.
