Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(56)

“Abby is a witch.” I hesitated then added the part he’d be seriously pissed at. “From Trinity’s coven.”

Waleron’s eyes went icicle as he turned his attention to me. “I know exactly who she is. I want to know what the hell she’s doing in this cottage half-dead and in Transition.”

Shit. “It’s complicated.” Waleron glared. “She is carrying my child. Well—was until last night. She lost it.” That sounded so bad. “We’re here because she drank Liam’s blood and we’ve been trying to keep her from Transitioning.”

Waleron’s brows rose, but he remained silent. It was his Ink that caught my attention as its eyes blazed red and the snake slithered slowly around his neck. Shit, he was livid.

Then I told him everything that had gone down from Abby asking Jedrik for help, up to this moment.

Waleron never said a word. Never moved a muscle. Didn’t even blink until I finished speaking.

“And why has Liam not raised hell looking for her?” Waleron asked.

I shrugged.

“Seems unlikely he would let her walk away with no recourse, especially if she was important to him. And she must be in order to let her drink his blood and risk retaliation from us and the witches.”

“Don’t know.” Jedrik and Delara—who I suspected would both be getting a surprise visit from Waleron—could explain that one.

Waleron walked away from the bed and approached me. He ran his finger down his neck over the tattoo and the snake stilled. “Detox has never been done before.”

“But Balen—”

“Balen is a Scar and he had good reason to fight the poison. What does this girl have? Her child is dead. Her coven will not allow her to return after discovering what she’s done. Liam—most likely—will turn on her if she doesn’t Transition. So, tell me, what does she have in order to bring her through this?”

“Fuck, Waleron. I don’t know. I barely know the girl.”

“Then figure it out,” he growled. “She needs a reason to fight or it will eat her alive and then kill her.”

I shoved away from the wall I was leaning against. “I can’t do it anymore. Jesus, Waleron, she’s in so much pain. We should consider letting her…” Shit, I couldn’t say it. It was wrong, and yet I couldn’t watch her suffer anymore.

Waleron quirked a brow. “You believe it would be easier if you let the Transition occur?”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah.” Either that or kill her.

Waleron scowled. “Easier on you, perhaps. But she will be enslaved to Liam for the rest of her life—if he lets her live. And if she kills a human, then you may be the one to have to hunt her down and kill her. It’s not a life I’d wish on anyone. Least of all a girl who made a childish error in judgment, one of which you would like her to pay for with the rest of her life.”

I curled my hands into fists. “No. Fuck, I don’t want that.”

“Then give her something to live for.”

Jesus, have mercy on my f*cked up soul, because the next words out of my mouth were going to kill me. “I’ll stay. For as long as it takes.”

Waleron gave a curt nod. “Good. Do not call Delara or the others.”

Shit.

He headed for the door and I moved back toward the bed, staring at the girl I just told a Taldeburu I’d save.

But I had no idea how.





MY STOMACH WAS TIED in knots, tingles tap danced across my skin, and my toes hurt from being squished in the pointed, black high-heels. But despite that, it was nice being dressed up and going out for the evening.

The gala was being held at the AGO, Art Gallery of Ontario, in one of their spectacular rooms. The ceiling was two stories high, and along each wall there were archways with red curtains draped and chandeliers hanging in each one.

It was magnificent, and if I wasn’t so nervous, I’d have been in awe. Well, I was in awe, but it was smothered by the nerves.

Waiters weaved through the crowd carrying trays of champagne flutes and a man in a tuxedo played live music on a white piano.

My dark green gown glimmered under the soft glow of lights and clung to my hips and swished against my legs. The back was cut in a sweeping half circle, matching the neckline. I thought it revealed too much of my cleavage—well, what little cleavage I had, but it was more than I’d ever had since I’d gained weight.

Delara looked stunning wearing the slinky silver gown that accentuated her toned figure. She wore tight silver bands around her wrists and a matching silver choker, leaving her skin bare above the strapless neckline. Her hair was untamed with its strands partially pinned up in loose twists, and her lips were painted bright red. Her eyes were smoky and dark, giving her a sexy, exotic appearance.

“Come on.” Delara leaned in to me, holding my elbow as she swept me into the fray. She grabbed two flutes off a waiter’s tray and handed me one. “Chug it,” she whispered, smiling. “It’ll help you relax.”

I tilted the glass and sipped, the light tingles of the champagne dancing across my tongue. It had a sweet, fruity taste to it and I liked it. Delara laughed when I chugged the rest.

She took my empty glass and placed it on a passing server’s tray and grabbed another two. “Okay, time to mingle.”