Page 23 of The Blood Witch
“No, not since theI don’t choose you, you don’t complete metalk. He just stares now,” I admit, judging myself as a forlorn sigh punctuates that revelation.
I will not sigh over Rogan Kendrick.
“Did he ask for another chance?” Tad questions, a hopeful note in the question.
“No. He told me hisreasons, but I think he just wanted to make himself feel better by explaining why he did what he did.”
Tad hums in understanding, and I can practically see him nodding and thinking things through on his end of the line. “Would you give him another chance if he asked?”
I shrug even though Tad can’t see me. “I don’t even know what chance we had in the first place,” I admit. “We don’t know each other really. I think I found myself locked into his tractor beam of hotness, and that was about it,” I joke, trying to lighten up the somber mood.
“The truth isn’t going anywhere just because you want to pretend you can’t see it,” Tad chirps, and I make a face at the phone.
“You’re taking this Spirit Guide thing too seriously. Don’t Miyagi me,” I grump.
“Miyagi? First of all, ain’t no old man waxing anything over here, Lennox Marai Osseous, let’s get that straight. Second of all, I was clearly channeling my inner Cinna, because yes please to Lenny Kravitz. And third of all, truth is truth, Lennard, so there.”
“Don’t youfull-nameme and then follow it up with aso there,” I playfully object as I laugh and shake my head in disapproval. “Cinna was the shit, though,” I concede after a beat.
“You know it.”
“Things just aren’t that simple, Tad. And before you go lamenting that relationships never are or nothing good was ever easy, don’t. I already know all that. It doesn’t change what happened. No one should get away with taking your choices. He treated me like a passenger in my own life; that’s never going to be okay. There’s a pattern there, and I’d be an idiot to ignore it. No pretty face, nice body, or meddling cousin is going to change that,” I mock, ignoring Tad’s sigh. “Besides, I’m here to do a job, not get into Rogan’s pants. So, subject change,” I announce, closing the door on any more Rogan talk.
“Fine, but you liked him, Leni. You don’t like anyone, and you likedhim. Shouldn’t that say something?”
“Yeah, that I have questionable taste,” I counter playfully, even though it reeks of truth to my own nose. “Plus, I think magic is changing me,” I admit. “I drooled over a couple lycans I first met, so I’m going to go bark up that tree if I need some fun.”
“Please, that’s just sex, I’m talking about feelings,” he counters.
“Bye, Tad,” I deadpan.
“You can’t run from your feelings, Lennox!” he shouts into the phone.
“Love you. Miss you. Stay out of trouble,” I coo as I go to hang up.
I hear a muffled, “I refuse, trouble is my middle name,” before I end the call with a laugh.
I look back at my lumpy pillow and ruffled covers, debating if I can try to get back to sleep. Chills work their way down my arms at the thought of another nightmare, and I quickly dismiss more sleep for a hot cup of tea.
It’s two in the morning, and I know the whole flat is sleeping aside from the guard at the door outside this apartment. I don’t want to wake anyone up, but I also don’t want to sit in here, reading too much into a dream and looking too hard at my anxieties. I get up, my bare feet feeling loud on the hardwood floor.
Why is it, whenever you’re trying to be quiet, everything always feels ten times louder?
I sneak out into the hallway, my pulse too loud in my ears when the quiet I’m enveloped in triggers my alarms. I’m trying to be stealthy and considerate, but for some reason, I’m suddenly feeling like it’s too quiet.
Did I shout out in my dream? I know I was sure as fuck freaking out inside of it. Why didn’t anyone come check on me? I freeze mid-step, just before I’m about to round a corner. I try to listen to what’s going on around me, but I can’t hear anything past my own needy heart and pounding fear. I want to scream at my body to shut the fuck up; my pulse is making it very hard to detect if I’m about to die. Fear sinks into my limbs, and I’m stuck statue-like in the middle of the hallway.
Out of nowhere, a body comes speeding around the corner, but instead of screaming like I want to from the shock of its sudden appearance, I react. My elbow is cocked back, and I’m slamming my fist into a hard, chiseled jaw in no time.
“What the…” my attacker shouts, but his nose is crunching under the force of my follow-up fist before he can so much as utter his choice of a swear word.
Running steps fill my ears, and I ready myself for a fight. Lights blink on as someone flips the switch behind me, and I whirl and blink against the disorienting flood to my senses.
Prek comes running toward me, shirtless and exhausted looking. “What happened?” he asks, confused, a long knife in his grip as he looks around for the threat. Three more guards spill out from different rooms, and I spin to point at the intruder I surprised with my one-two combo.
Rogan straightens up from a semi bent position, hands cupping his face and blood seeping through the seams of his fingers.
Well, oopsie.
