Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(7)

“Yeah, it does concern me because you’re my best friend.” Jedrik shook his head, hands clenched at his sides. “Liam. Fuck.” He snorted. “It’s Waleron. This has something to do with him. Right? Of course, I’m right. It always has to do with him.” He didn’t give me a chance to answer as he continued. “You’re using these guys like he does Trinity for her visions. Except with you, it’s more than that, isn’t it?” I tensed at how close he was to the truth. “Is it working for you? Well, I sure as f*ck hope it has worked its way out of your ass, because I’m not going to stand by and lose you again. Liam finds out you’re using him, he’ll kill you and screw the truce.”

Maybe, but I doubted it.

I was, however, pushing it this time. Hooking up with a Wraith was taboo, frowned upon, yeah, even against the rules, but the Scars and Wraiths were on the same side. Liam might have a truce with the Scars, but he was still the enemy, even if I was doing this to attain info.

“I’ll cool it,” I said, avoiding his eyes as he stepped in front of me.

“Say it again,” Jedrik demanded. “And bloody well look at me, Sass.”

Well, at least he was back to using my nickname. “I’ll cool it.”

“Too broad.”

“Christ, Arrow.” But he knew me too well. “Fine. I’ll stop f*cking Li—” I abruptly stopped, eyes widening as the familiar scent plowed into me.

Jedrik grabbed my arm and propelled me toward the kitchen. “Waleron. Shit. He’ll scent Liam in the foyer and have this house in an uproar within seconds. Get the f*ck out of here. Go home.”

He dragged me through to the kitchen and yanked open the back door. The cool breeze swept through the room, causing the curtains on the windows to dance.

I hesitated. “Jedrik. Don’t you dare take the hit for me.”

He shrugged.

I glared. “This is my shit. Promise me or I’m staying.”

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever,” he said then shoved me out the door.

I turned and ran.

I heard Waleron shout my name a hundred feet from the house. He never raised his voice unless he was livid, and even that was rare, considering he was the master of control over his emotions.

“Delara!” he shouted again.

I stopped. No point running. It wasn’t like I could avoid him and I didn’t want Jedrik covering for me.

I sighed and headed back to the house, the shrapnel in my heart digging a little deeper.





“You see that? Fuck, I kicked ass,” Quill said as he drove down the road, the buildings in the compound blowing up one by one, domino style. The car weaved onto the shoulder as Quill looked in the rearview mirror, watching his handiwork. “Hey, this goes sour with Waleron, I was not here.”

I shrugged. “My business stays my business.”

“Well, they’ll be crawling up your ass the second you walk in the Toronto house with her in tow.” He gestured over his right shoulder to the backseat. “Don’t think Waleron’s going to play nice after you deliberately disobeyed his orders.”

Yeah, well, Waleron never played nice.

All the Scars would be in my face about this, but I couldn’t care less. I did what had to be done, and screw Waleron and anyone else who told me what to do. Ryker had known that and given me space. Now, our f*ckin’ Talde was destroyed because of Rayne’s husband. Bastards had killed Sandor, Derek, and Ryker’s wife, his maite, Hannah.

Now, I was holed up in Toronto with Keir, his woman Anstice, Jedrik, Delara, and the Scar Taldeburu, Waleron, who didn’t live there but was around often enough. And he was around because of some f*cked up past he had with Delara, although that was never talked about.

“You going to tell me who she is? And why I saw CWOs and humans in that place fighting on the same side.”

I glanced over at the paper-thin chick huddled close to the car door, cheek leaning against it. Her hands were clutched in her lap, not relaxed because the tips were white from pressing them together so hard. Her expression was blank, eyes looking out the window, but I doubt she saw anything.

“Nope.”

Quill honked the horn at a sluggish van as he weaved around it. “Get off the bloody road if you can’t go the speed limit!” Quill was a Taster, meaning he had the gift of tasting emotions of those around him.

In the compound, he would’ve tasted a putrid expulsion of milk a year after its expiry date if there were persons being tortured or suffering. The only one he’d noticed was Rayne.

“Why the hell not?” he asked.

“Don’t feel like it.”

Quill snorted, pressed on the accelerator, and the car jerked forward. He was hell-bent on beating some kind of record as he drove like a maniac to the airport. I didn’t know the guy very well as he was from the West Coast Talde in Vancouver, but from what I did know: intense when need be, expert in explosives, and could detonate bombs using his mind—the very reason I’d contacted him. He was also considered easygoing, although he obviously had a pet peeve for slow drivers.

“Fine. Then what’s the plan?”

“No plan,” I said.

“No plan?”

“What’s there to plan? Got her out. Compound in flames. Not much else to plan.”