Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(52)

He took two steps toward her, looped his arm around her waist, and yanked her against his chest. “Love you, Sass. Need you safe.”

Delara’s face instantly softened, but she pushed him away. “Go. Get out of here. And it’s your turn to call Damien. I’m not doing it this week. He nearly bit off my head the last time I called. Seriously, that guy has major issues.”

“Have a little sympathy. He’s in hell.” I had no idea who Damien was and, after hearing that, I didn’t want to. Jedrik kissed her cheek and headed out of the kitchen. “See ya, Rayne. Totally hot and f*cka—”

“Arrow!” Delara picked up a can of peaches and threw it at his head, but he caught it before it hit him.

He grinned. “Later, babes.” He tossed the can back at Delara then jogged down the stairs.

“So how was therapy? You feeling okay?” Delara asked while continuing to put the groceries away.

“Good. Bad. Hard.”

I moved to lean up against the counter, a box of crackers in my hands. This was the first time in months that Delara seemed approachable. “Where do you stay every night?”

Delara’s hand stopped midway to the cupboard with a can of tuna. She set it on top of the three others then shut the cupboard before turning. “It’s a Scar thing, Rayne. I’ve never mentioned anything because I know you want to keep what we are and do out of your life. And you’re doing so much better. Besides, it’s nothing anyway.”

It was true. I didn’t want to know what the Scars did. I knew enough from Anton, and what I’d learned was the Scars fought against CWOs and vampires to protect humans.

But Delara had been good to me and I wanted to help if I could. “If I can help—”

“Really, it’s nothing, okay?” Delara cut me off and her back tensed. Something was wrong. She also just put the sour cream in the cupboard and the oranges in the freezer. “How about we go shopping? We both need new dresses for Danni’s art gala tomorrow night. And, yes, you’re going. Mandatory for all employees.”

“I’m her only employee.” I laughed.

“All the more reason for you to go.”

I made four hundred dollars a week working at Danni’s gallery, and I saved as much as I could. Leaving Toronto would eventually happen because one of these days the Scars were going to sense my abilities and would want me to be a part of their fight.

Every day that I became stronger, so did my powers shifting through my body; it was as if they slowly woke from a long sleep. Soon my shields wouldn’t be enough to keep them hidden and the Scars would find out I was one of them.

I’d never use my ability again. I wouldn’t. If the Scars wanted me as part of their fight, I’d have to leave.





I WAS DETERMINED TO find Rayne the sexiest, classiest, dress in the city. She’d gained twenty or so pounds in six months and her eyes no longer looked sunken in. There was a healthy glow to her skin. She had hips and curves, but as she tried on dress after dress, I noticed her uncertainty as she looked at herself in the mirror. I suspected it would take years for her to be confident with how she looked.

I found a full-length silver-sequined gown that had a beautiful V-neck and low-dipped back. The silver would wash out Rayne’s features, but for my olive skin tone it was perfect.

“Going to try this on,” I said to Rayne over the dress rack as I headed into the dressing room. I hadn’t planned on buying anything, but I tried a few dresses to satisfy Rayne’s argument that if she had to try on dresses, so did I.

There was no one else in the dressing room, so I picked the last door on the left. I wiggled out of my snug jeans, yanked my long-sleeved, red shirt over my head, and stepped into the gown.

“How’s Rayne?”

I gasped, swinging around at the familiar deep voice directly behind me—in my change room. In a woman’s change room.

“Jesus, Tac.” I quickly finished pulling the dress up, but was unable to reach around and zip it, so I held the front up with one hand. “What are you doing here?” The last place I wanted Waleron was in close quarters with me. But he had no qualms about doing whatever he felt like regardless of others’ feelings. I knew that firsthand.

His ice blue eyes roamed the length of my body then back up again.

I glared. “Get out.”

He casually leaned up against the door, which was my only escape, and crossed his arms. “Kilter’s Rest ends tomorrow.” He spoke in his usual manner—calm, steady, and with as much emotion as a bloody lamppost. But what pissed me off was that every time he was near, my stomach whooshed and my knees weakened. “So, I’ll ask again, how is Rayne?”

No matter what he did or said, that feeling was always there. “She’s better. Gained weight. More confident. But, Tac, she doesn’t want anything to do with the Scars.”

“She may not have a choice. Word is a Grit from the compound is roaming the streets watching Rayne. He has yet to kill any humans, but we need to deal with him before he makes a move on her. I suspect it’s the same man you encountered at the Talde house months ago.”

“If I had to guess, yeah, it would be him.”

Waleron protected the Scars as if we were his lifeline. Actually, we were his lifeline. Screw with him and he’d retaliate, but he’d also sacrifice everything to save your ass. “She’s under our protection now. That means a Grit does not get near her.”