Page 23 of Fanged Secrets
The events of the previous night played on a loop in my mind as I made my way to my father’s home. Don had texted me earlier that day, demanding I get to the mansion for a debriefing. I had declined a lift from Carlo this time, choosing instead to brave the streets and taxi cabs. Choosing anything to distract me from the thousand and one thoughts that crowded my head.
My bottom lip ached where Dylan’s canine had nicked me, and my mouth felt bruised where she had pressed punishing kisses the night before. I found my fingers absently drifting to my lips, trailing the path hers had followed. We had crossed a line –more specifically, I dove head-first across the line and dragged Dylan along with me. And now I had no idea where we stood.
Above all else, Dylan’s absence stung more than I cared to admit. She hadn’t come home by the next morning, dooming me to my dread and confusion, and leaving me to fend for myself in a maelstrom of emotions.
Don’s mansion loomed into view and I dragged myself up the cobbled steps, letting myself in the back door with a spare key. I had a bone to pick with my father.
Dylan and her partner had run into trouble at the docks. Dylan was sure it was a setup, and so was I. Don had promised me that no harm would come to her, that nothing would occur that could blow my cover. He told me he just needed information and that he wasn’t going to act on it yet. And so, I’d given him Dylan’s note.
My chest caved in at the guilt. Whatever Dylan thought of me, it would be justified. Whatever happened from here… I probably deserved it. I angrily blinked tears from my eyes, slamming the door shut behind me and kicking it for good measure. My sneakers offered little padding and a bolt of pain shot through my foot on impact. Finding slight comfort in the ache, I did it again. And again, slamming my foot at the door until it felt like the wood might splinter and my ankle would break.
When I finally calmed down I hobbled through the hallways, heading for my father’s study. Don wasn’t around yet, and I settled in a leather-clad chair opposite his desk. It was a massive, expensive-looking piece of furniture, dominating one half of the sterile office. I stared at his empty chair, a visceral anger bubbling in my chest.
A little over a month ago this mission made sense. It sounded easy enough, despite the fact that I was expected to mingle with a member of one of Don’s enemies. I had planned to be careful, clinical in my deconstruction of Dylan – get the necessaryinformation and get it to Don. Rinse and repeat until my agent finally got back to me with good news.
But the lines between duty and desire had blurred, and there was no taking it back. With nothing to do but think, I hunkered down and got to drowning in a sea of regret.
Time dragged on and my throat constricted with each passing minute. Eventually, after two hours of musing, I was startled when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I flicked the screen on and scanned my messages, my mood souring further when I read the text from my father.
Busy today. Don’t bother coming around.
I swallowed my irritation and typed out my agent's number from memory, daring a text despite my father’s hovering shadow, begging her for some good news about the TV show adaptation. Or even just a little reassurance. Anything.
But her response was equally discouraging:Nothing yet. All we can do now is be patient.
Frustration coaxed hot tears from my eyes, and for once I let them fall. I dropped my head in my lap, letting the raking sobs roll through my body like cresting waves. I was tired of waiting, tired of being pushed around, tired of the uncertainty. I had told myself I just had to hold out a little longer, keep my father happy, and then this would all be over. But holding out was proving impossible. I wasn’t coping with any of it, especially not my conflicting feelings toward Dylan.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what had driven her away last night. Our collision and her later disappearance felt unreal, like I’d dreamed it, or my sleep-deprived mind had exaggerated the details overnight. Was it the fact that she hurt me? Or had she just woken up to what she was doing and with whom?
I wrapped my arms around myself, burying my head under the weight of it all. What did she think of me now?
When my tears ran dry a few minutes later, I sucked in a breath and pulled myself together. I left out the back door, not bothering to lock it behind me, and traipsed back down the winding stairs. With my eyes on the ground I didn’t see the figure in front of me until I collided with their back. I quickly jumped away, memories of earlier run-ins with my father’s men screaming through my mind in a rush.
The woman before me looked unbothered, strange dark eyes raking up and down my body like a snake measuring its next meal. I shrank away from her gaze, eyeing her with suspicion. Her waist length hair was so blonde it was almost white, glistening like fine silk in the sunshine. Despite the relatively warm weather, she was wrapped in a fur coat that trailed down to her ankles.
Sign language never seemed to work with anyone who wasn’t deaf too, but I tried anyway, briefly forming an L shape with my index and my thumb on my chin and then pointing at her. My version of “Who are you?”
The woman cocked her head to the side and knit her brows, pursed lips moving distinctly. “You must be Don’s daughter, Amara.”
I took a cautionary step back and the woman smiled coldly. “Don’t be afraid, dear.”
She extended a thin, sinewy hand and gripped my chin between taloned fingers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I froze as she scanned my tear-streaked face, her eyes like black pebbles in clear pools. She was silent for a moment, her expression somewhat melancholy, and then she withdrew her hand. “You are to be someone else’s prey.”
The woman watched me for a moment longer, then turned and walked toward a sleek silver car parked on the curb. She got in the passenger seat, speaking to a driver with equally snowy hair, and I sidled up beside them as the car started up.
Before it could speed off I acted on impulse. I pretended to rifle in my tote bag and simultaneously dropped my phone on the tarmac. I swiftly crouched down as if to grab it and stuck a small tracking device against the back wheel of the vehicle before the car pulled away from the curb.
Straightening up again, I watched it disappear down the street.
My curiosity was piqued, but so was my anxiety. The encounter had shaken me, but it had also given me a new mission. If Don was ready to put my life on the line by exposing my espionage, I wanted to find out more about who my father was mingling with.
With my heart still pounding, I turned and walked away from the mansion, the tracking device’s signal blinking on my phone.
Chapter 13
Dylan
