Page 154 of Kill Feed

“Do enlighten me.”

She lets out an exaggerated laugh, placing both hands on her hips, digging her fingers into the fabric of her well-tailored suit the color of wine. With her hair perfectly aligned, gracing her shoulders, and her dominant stance, she barely looks bothered.

“I’ll admit…” she claims with a faint smile, “I expected you to last at least one more round before killing your comrade.”

“You seem remarkably calm.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

I study her—there isn’t a trace of accusation in her expression.

No disappointment, no hint of anger either. Just pure statement and curiosity, and she has one hell of a poker face; that much I can admit.

“Oh, Dante,” she says my name gently, almost affectionately. “You’ve won Kill Feed three years in a row and became one of the finest hunters this organization has ever produced. And yet, you have decided to throw that all away.”

She pauses, watching my reaction to her words before she continues, “And tonight, you killed one of your own to protect my photographer of all people.”

“I thought you’d be furious,” I huff, letting a grin on my face set in stone. “But… shouldn’t he be at one of your more demure events then?”

She laughs softly. “Oh, no.” Her voice is almost disappointed by the suggestion. “Fury is terribly unproductive. As for my photographer, how can I let him miss the greatest Halloween event of all?” Selene steps forward, throwing her hands into the air.

I instinctively want to step back, but my hips are already pressed against the sink.

She certainly has a way with words—and an even greater talent for making everything painfully theatrical. She’s the ultimate game master, with an insatiable appetite for entertainment after all.

“Tell me, Dante. Why do you think I have rules?”

I don’t answer. Not that she doesn’t expect me to.

“Most people believe rules exist to maintain order, to control the masses and keep a thumb on the lesser. Truth is, they exist to be broken.” Her smile deepens as she takes another step forward. “Otherwise… how would one know who to keep an eye on, who the bad apples are?”

“And that’s your plan, getting rid of these ‘bad apples’?” I ask, meeting her gaze as I lift myself from the sink.

“I’m rather fond of bad apples, Graves,” Selene chimes. “I’ve spent years scoping them out and placing them in my systems.”

“Fair enough.”

Selene swirls on her heels, her eyes drifting across the ceiling and walls as though she can see straight through them, watching her game unfold beyond the room.

“I also see everything,” she adds, “no matter how well you try to hide it.”

“This is a rather dramatic threat, Miss Whitlock,” I spit back, all while keeping a smug grin on my face. Not to undermine her, of course. More to keep her from reading me quite so easily.

She studies me with open fascination.

“This isn’t a threat, my dear,” she laughs, “but rather an opportunity.”

I lift a brow, careful not to let anything else betray me.

It’s clear as day now. She knows about Adrian. About the night he came looking for Xavier, and how I let him walk away without a single repercussion afterward. She knows exactly what I did—how I toyed with him, pulled his strings, and somehow ended up losing myself in him instead.

“This is only the beginning,” Selene claims, “and I’d like to see what your next moves are.”

Chapter 41

Adrian

Dante should’ve killed me. He had every opportunity to.