Page 271 of The Poison Daughter
“You always were terrible at darts, Low,” she says.
I shrug a shoulder. “Imagine how insufferable I would be if I was good at everything.” I turn slowly and take in her appearance.
She’s wearing a tight pair of black pants and her signature button-down, which is open enough to show a glimpse of her cleavage. I’m sure the bar was an absolute madhouse given the day’s events, but Bea looks as fresh as if she just started her shift. Her short hair is still immaculate, and her brown skin has a golden glow, as if she were blessed by Harvain.
It’s actually offensive for an ex to be so beautiful, but that recognition is more a habit than backed by real emotion. It’s not like how I feel when I look at Henry, when it feels like the Divine have conspired to make a man so devastatingly handsome that I can hardly breathe when he looks at me.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
Bea crosses the room, grabs the second bottle of wine, and uncorks it. “I saw the light on when I stepped out for some air.”
She takes a sip of the wine straight from the bottle and moans in satisfaction. Then, she hands me the bottle.
“Big day,” she says.
It’s an invitation to tell her everything, but I am too tired to relive it all. “Henry lied to me.”
Bea arches a brow. “Well, he is a man.”
I take a long gulp of wine to try to wash down the lump in my throat. “He’s twice-blessed—by Elvodeen…and Polm.”
Bea reaches for the bottle, and I reluctantly hand it back to her. “And he used it on you?”
I nod.
“How?”
My mouth is dry and the wine hasn’t helped at all. “I’m not certain, but I think when I was losing it over my parents letting Rafe kill Aidia.”
The crease in Bea’s brow softens. “Low, I’m?—”
I hold up a hand. “I can’t do that now. I’m here to make a plan.”
She nods, then takes a long gulp of wine and hands it back to me. “Okay. What kind of plan?”
I don’t even know how to articulate this. I need a plan to escape my husband, or to stay with him forever, or to keep being the Poison Vixen, or to make peace with Kellan, or to fix the madness in me that saw Aidia for six months after she died—the same madness that longs to see her still.
“I don’t know what to do now,” I say. “I can’t stay at South Hold.”
“Of course you can’t,” Bea says.
“Henry lied, but he also killed Rafe. Violently.”
Bea purses her lips. Her ability to remain unfazed by truly unexpected information is born out of years of bartending, and I’ve always found it comforting to know I could never tell her the craziest thing she’s ever heard.
“So will you go back to Mountain Haven, then?” Bea asks.
I don’t even know if that’s what I want. I only know that being here in the city feels like too much with all I know now.
“Are you in love with him?” Bea whispers the question, like she’s trying not to scare off a wounded beast.
I want to tell her it’s a stupid question—to deny it loudly and repeatedly. I want to tell her that loving him is the most foolish, reckless thing I could do.
Instead, I say, “But what about the Poison Vixen? What about the women who need us?”
Bea sighs and takes the wine from my shaking hands, then sets it on the table beside me. She places her hand on my shoulders and faces me head-on.
“I think you needed the Vixen just as much as those women did—but you deserve some peace, Harlow. I have never known you to have any—not until now. That feeling that’s so uncomfortable—that’s safety.”
