Page 47 of The Enemy to the Living
Bile rises in my throat and thank fuck I’m in the bathroom because the toilet’s right there for me to throw up in. Tears roll down my face and when I’m done, I sit back down hard, resting for just a moment.
What have I done?
I haven’t even told anyone about Bryn, either, which makes me feel even worse. But someone should have found him, right? The twins told their troll to drop him near a pack house, so he’d have been found within minutes.
Is he still alive? Can he survive without his wolf? Asher’s still alive. Kieran never had one. Maybe Bryn will be fine.
Maybe.
I haul myself up some time later and put my dead phone on charge before I drag my clothes off and stumble into the shower. At first, I don’t feel the hot water—I’m shivering—so I turn it up and up and up until my skin turns pink.
Fuck, what have I done?Whathave I done? All that hope I’d let flourish in me before last night is dashed; no point getting my wolf back if I’ll just have to give him up anyway.
I see I have a bunch of missed calls once my phone comes back on. Drew, Kieran, Ophelia, Asher… My thumb hovers over the option to call Asher back, but what’s the point? If he knows about everything, he’ll just ask. He’ll want to know.
And I can’t tell him. I tell him, and the fights don’t matter, my wolf will be gone anyway.
I drift around for the rest of the day. I turn the TV on but don’t watch it. I lie down on the sofa, then my bed, but don’t sleep. I manage to eat something—just some cereal, dry, because I can tell the milk is off—but that’s only out of knowing that I need tobe ready to fight, should I get a message tonight, rather than any particular urge.
My phone goes off just after sundown and my heart leaps into my throat. It could be Asher. Could be, could be…
Fight tonight. 10 p.m.
There’s a location pin in the next message. They’ve moved again, then. If the Hunt has heard about what happened, Asher would know where to go.
Will he follow me again?
Oh. I heave myself to my feet and dig the trousers I was wearing last night out of the wash basket. The pale stone is still there, as cool to the touch as it was when Celyn pressed it into my hand.
I get ready slowly, dressing in loose clothing the way I always do, and make sure to slip the stone into my pocket when I grab my phone. I don’t know how it works—or if it works at all—but Celyn gave it to me, so I’d be a fool not to take it.
I’m starting to get the feeling that there are layers to the deal we struck I truly don’t understand. What if leaving the stone here means that I’ve voided it somehow?
When I step out into the hallway, it’s silent. Kieran and Lucien’s flat is quiet, as is Ophelia and Dante’s, but that doesn’t mean much. It’s Saturday. Maybe they all went out.
As I’m going down the stairs, I hear the door to the building open. My next inhale carries Drew’s scent.
Fuck.
He’s going to know something’s wrong with me. There’s no avoiding it, not when he knows me so well.
Knewme so well.
He looks startled to see me, and I realise it’s been days since we’ve been face-to-face. Shit. When did that happen?
“Quinn.” His smile is large and genuine and somehow makes me feel worse. “You’re going out?”
“Yeah, I—” It’s got to be clear I’m not going on a night out or anything like that, but nothing springs to mind as an excuse. “Just for a little bit, you know?”
“I could come with you? Kieran and Sam are off at Deacon’s, I think. There’s been a whole thing…” He shakes his head, but I see the darkness at the edge of his expression. Bryn? Has to be. “I think Adam and Lucien are hanging out with Elle tonight. It’d be nice for us to—”
“Can’t,” I choke out. My heart is beating too fast. Can he hear it? Hemustbe able to hear it. His face drops, but I feel like I’m watching him from a distance. “Sorry. I’ve got to—I should go. Another time. We should do something another time.”
I’m already budging past him, and when Drew reaches for me, I dodge the touch. He gasps, and I might not be able to pick up scents as well as I used to, but there’s no avoiding this one.
Hurt. Disappointment. Sadness.
“Sorry,” I say again and race out of the building without looking back.
