Opposition (Lux, #5)(12)

“Thought you were supposed to be watching her?” I said.

She shrugged. “She’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Dawson knocked her into next week, I think.”

The back of my neck tensed. “So no one is with her?”

“I really don’t know.” She frowned at her nails. “And I really don’t care.”

I stared at her a moment, unthinkable words forming on my lips, but I pushed them down. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring up Beth.”

She arched a brow. “Beth is weak—weaker than Katy. She’d probably run away the second she saw us, fall, and kill herself, taking out Dawson in the process. I think we need to keep her a secret for Dawson’s sake.”

“You’ll lie to Rolland?”

“Haven’t we already been lying to him? Obviously Dawson’s keeping that little secret buried deep, just like you have, and so have I. They don’t know about Beth and didn’t know about Kat until a little while ago.”

Pressure clamped down on my chest, and I forced it out of my system when Dee tilted her head to the side to watch me. “If you think that’s best.”

“I do,” she replied coolly.

There was nothing left to say, so I turned toward the door.

“You’re going to her.”

I stopped but didn’t turn around. “So?”

“Why would you?” she asked.

“If her wound festers and she dies, well, you know where that leaves me.”

Dee’s tinkling laugh reminded me of icicles falling from the roof of our porch back home during the winter. “Since when do hybrids get festering wounds?”

“Hybrids don’t get colds and cancers, Dee, but who knows what a charred hole in their flesh does. Do you?”

“Ah, that’s kind of a good point, but . . .”

Turning to her, my hands clenched at my sides. “What are you trying to say?”

Her lips curled up. “The worst thing that could happen is her arm rotting off.”

I stared at her.

Tipping her head back, she laughed as she clapped her hands together. “You should see your face. Look, all I’m trying to say is that it sounds like there’s another reason why you want to go see her.”

A twitching muscle moved from under my eye to my jaw. “You were right earlier.”

She frowned. “Huh?”

I let the kind of smile that was a lifetime ago pull at my lips. “Thinking with a different kind of head.”

“Ew!” Her nose wrinkled. “God, yeah, I don’t need to know anymore. ’Bye.”

Winking at her, I pivoted around and left the room. Dawson was no longer in the atrium, and I didn’t like that I had no idea where he was or what he was doing. No good could come from that, but I really didn’t have the brain cells to deal with that on top of what waited upstairs.

I hadn’t brought her back here.

Dawson had, and I hadn’t been with him when he’d carried her upstairs, but I knew where she was without asking. Third floor. Last bedroom on the right.

Framed photos of the real Mayor Rolland Slone and his family adorned the stairwell, a pretty blond wife and two kids under the age of ten. I hadn’t seen the wife or the kids when we came here. The last photo on the second floor landing was cracked, smeared with dried blood.

I kept going.

My steps were faster than I intended, but the upper floors were virtually empty, and as I started down the wide hall with paintings of the lakes surrounding the city covering the forest-green walls, the hum and chatter faded until it almost felt like it was only me in my head. Almost.

Thrusting a hand through my hair, I let out a ragged breath that immediately turned into a swift curse when I spotted the last door.

It was cracked open.

Had Dee left it that way? Possible. My hand fell to my side as I drifted toward the door. My heart jackhammered against my ribs as I reached out, pushing it open. Abnormally bright light spilled into the hall.

A Luxen was in the room with her, bent over the bed, its form completely blocking her.

There wasn’t a single thought in my head.





4


{ Daemon }

The edges of my vision tinged in red, and like a ticked-off cobra striking, I shot across the room as the Luxen sensed my presence and straightened. He turned as he shifted into the human form he’d adopted—a male in his early twenties. I think he was going by the name of Quincy. Not that I gave two craps about his name.

“You shouldn’t—”

My fist crashed into the space just below his ribs, doubling him over. Before he could fall back on the bed, I gripped him by the shoulders and tossed him to the side.

Quincy bounced into the wall, the impact rattling the framed pictures hanging on it. His blue eyes flashed white, but I exploded forward, punching my hands into his shoulders, slamming him back into the wall again.

I got all up in his face. “What were you doing in here?”

Quincy’s lips pulled back over his teeth. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“If you don’t want to find out what it feels like to have your human skin ripped away, one strip at a time,” I replied, my fingers digging through the shirt he wore, “you will.”

He laughed. “You don’t scare me.”