Page 114 of The Reveal
“Augie,” I begin, determined to help him, whatever that looks like—
Before I can finish, there’s a knock at the door.
I’m up immediately, drawing one of my guns. I don’t mind when Augie comes up hard beside me and helps himself to the second gun I carry in my harness. We go to the door, like the well-oiled machine we were, once. Because we taught each other how to do this, back at the beginning of what the werewolf alpha calleda party.
Augie goes to the door and waits for me to get into position. He reaches over to swipe open up the peephole and I pause, just barely, then look.
Big mistake if anyone was going to attack immediately.
But when I see who it is, I’m not exactly happy. I’d prefer an attack.
“Go away,” I tell the door.
Ariel is even beautiful through a peephole, damn him, and he doesn’t argue. He steps aside so I can see that there’s another vampire with him.
It’s another female vampire. Mercifully, not the one I saw belowground before.
I open my mouth to tell them both to fuck off, but I catch myself.
He’s not here for me. Or he might be, but that’s not why he brought this woman.
I open the door, and I swear I can see how relieved Augie is when he sees who’s there. He lowers his weapon. He swallows hard.
Then the look he gives me is anguished.
“Not inside,” I manage to say. “No vampires in the house where Gran is. That’s all I ask.”
“Understood.”
His voice sounds too thick, and he can’t meet my eyes. I can see him in that cell again, covered in the terrible shame that I saw him like that. He’s not happy about it now, either.
But addiction is addiction. We both know that entirely too well.
He steps outside and walks with that vampire into the dark. He doesn’t look back.
It hurts to breathe. I do it anyway.
“I assume I can trust you not to kill him?” I ask Ariel.
I stay inside. He stays on the porch.
I don’t invite him in.
“I could have had your brother killed at any time,” he reminds me, softly. “And you, and your grandmother. Why would I bother with the rest of this?”
“Because you’re a monster.”
“Aren’t we all,” he says quietly.
“Did you really give him back to me?” I can barely get that out, and it’s barely a whisper. “Or is this some sick little game?”
The look he shoots at me then is ... arrested. As if I’vewoundedhim somehow.
As ifIshould apologize tohim.
I nearly do.
When I don’t, he looks away again, and that feels even worse.
