Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

His eyes light up. “It would be my honor to help protect a beautiful woman like yourself, assuming, of course, we can come to a mutually agreeable price.”

“Meet me in room three in two minutes and we can talk terms.” I draw back, letting my fingernails scrape down his shirt as I walk away.

I cut through the bar, down the hallway in the back, and up the stairs to the second floor. The number three on the third door on the right of the dim hallway hangs slightly askew. I unlock the door and let myself into the simple room. There’s a single bed to the right of the door. On the far wall, a wooden chair sits next to a matching table in front of a fireplace.

Bea must have sent Josie up to start a fire, because it’s already bright and the room is warmer than I was expecting.

I check my appearance in the mirror hanging on the wall by the door. The bright red stain on my lips is still perfect. I pinch my cheeks to give the illusion of a flush.

A knock sounds at the door, and I rush to answer it.

As soon as I crack it open, he’s on me. Shane grabs my arm and tugs me toward the bed. Stupid of me to let my guard down just because he’s drunk.

I twist and break his hold. “I was thinking you could sit in that chair there while I slip out of my dress.”

“I thought I could have it however I like. I’m good for it. I want you to sit on my face,” he says.

His words are slurred. He’s drunker than I thought.

“Actually, you’re right about the chair. I want to look in those violet eyes while you ride my cock,” he says.

Shane stumbles toward the chair, fumbling and almost missing the seat. I crack my elbow against his temple, and he instantly slumps over to the side. I search the room for something to hold him in place in case he tries to get handsy again.

The only option is the cords holding the curtains open.

“Sorry, Bea,” I say as I remove them from the curtains and use them to bind each of the man’s wrists to the wooden arms of the chair.

I stand back and look him over. His chin is tucked down, his mouth open and drooling on his shirt. I hit him harder than I meant to.

This might take a while.

Instead of sitting there staring at him, I slip out of the room and back downstairs to enjoy Bea’s fine wines while I wait to begin my interrogation.

Instead of going straight for the bar, I turn the other way at the bottom of the stairs and head down the back hallway that leads to a cleaning supply closet. I duck inside and cross the small, cluttered space. The shelf on the back wall is almost too high for me to reach, but I brush my fingers over the top edge until they brush cool metal. I grasp the key and push aside a cleaning smock hooked beside the shelf to reveal a keyhole. I unlock the door and push, and it creaks open, revealing Bea’s fine wine collection. She should never have told me it was here if she didn’t want me to drink it.

Running my fingers over the dusty bottles, I choose an old favorite, then step back into the closet, close the secret door, and lock it. I return the key to its spot, reach into the smock pocket where I tucked a corkscrew a while back, and use it to uncork the bottle.

I step out of the closet and sneak out the back door with my pilfered wine in hand.

The courtyard behind the bar is quiet, and the cold air feels good after wrestling with the man upstairs.

I lift my hair away from my neck and sigh, taking a sip of the wine. It’s as good as I remembered—smooth and rich and perfect for a winter night.

Shane better wake up soon. When Henry gets back to Carrenwell House, he’ll realize I’m not in my room and he’ll tell Gaven, and then I’ll have to deal with both of them.

I stare up at the night sky and sip my wine, listening to the ruckus inside. I could just stay out here and take a night off from spying. Guilt twists through me at the thought and I knock back a few gulps of wine.

It takes a good fifteen minutes or so for the feeling to dissipate, but once it does, I feel more grounded, even with the pleasant buzz of alcohol flowing through my veins.

Hopefully, I’ve given Shane enough time to wake up. I’ll just bring this bottle to the bar since it’s one of Bea’s favorites and I feel bad only drinking a little bit of it. If the man isn’t awake by the time I’m done, I’ll find a way to wake him.

When I step back into the bar, it’s even louder and more crowded than before.

Bea spots me and frowns as I push my way toward her.

“That was fast,” she says, pouring something from a nondescript bottle and handing it to me. She glances over my shoulder toward the stairwell.

“My friend got a little excited and I had to settle him down,” I say. “I may have settled him a little harder than I meant to. I figured I’d have a drink while I wait.”

Her brow wrinkles. She looks toward the hallway again. “Did you see—” She holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m not here to judge whatever games you get up to.”

I’m about to ask what she means, but I take a slow sip of the reddish liquid and almost groan. It’s the smoothest whiskey I’ve ever tasted, with a hint of something fruity at the very end.

“What is this?”

Bea preens in satisfaction. “This is why the crowd is so big tonight. Word got out that I was sampling my new Dark Star Festival brew for one night only. I can’t imagine how that happened when I was keeping it under wraps.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

Bea is so good at spreading rumors and hyping up her rare distillations. She has an uncanny ability to create a frenzy by sharing information with just the right patrons to ensure that it spreads through the whole city within one evening.

A thought sears through my mind. The only other person who can create such persuasive havoc is Rochelli.

I watch Bea as she wipes up a spill in front of a man sitting a few seats down at the bar. She couldn’t possibly be the leader of the rebellion. But my mind immediately starts fitting pieces together. She is incredibly well-informed—a fact I’d written off because of the sheer volume of people she speaks to every night. But she also hates my family, she has no magic, and she has testified vehemently at town meetings against the second blood tithe.

I shake the thought away and take another sip of the drink. It’s unimaginable that I was so blinded by my affection for her that I would have missed that. Besides, she rarely ever leaves Guardian’s Crossing except to get ingredients for her creations. How could she run a revolution and a business?

After handing an ale to a man at the end of the bar, she walks back toward me, leans over, and smirks. “Low, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to say something. I don’t know what kind of kinky game you and your new husband are playing, but I have to ask why you’re still down here when he went upstairs so long ago.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

Bea holds up her hand in mock surrender. “I don’t know if you’re just trying to make me jealous by doing it here, and I’m not one to judge whatever weird roleplay thing you’re doing, but I’m surprised you’re making him wait so long. He popped in and asked where you were right after you went off with your rebel. He went up a while ago.”

I don’t wait to answer her. I shove through the crowd and sprint up the stairs, praying my informant isn’t already dead.

OceanofPDF.com

41HARLOW

Istep inside room three and close the door behind me, pausing with my hand still on the knob, my gaze fixed on my husband.

Out of the corner of my eye, Shane tugs frantically on the ties at his wrists. At least he’s still breathing.

Henry is perched on the bed, his dark eyes burning into me. I can tell he’s been back to Carrenwell House because his hair is neatly combed and he’s changed into clean clothes.

He crosses his arms, and his biceps strain against his black dress shirt.

I’m not afraid of Henry, but an alarm bell rings in the back of my brain, warning me to run.

I release my hold on the doorknob and turn slowly to face him. “My wolf, what a truly unpleasant surprise. How did you know how to find me?”

“This is your favorite bar,” Henry says. “With your favorite bartender.” His gaze rakes down my body, pausing on my breasts before sliding down to my right leg and the hip-high slit. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I swish from side to side. “A very expensive dress from an exclusive Lunameade designer. I’m glad you like it.”

“If that’s a dress, surely it’s unfinished.”

I tug on the neckline. “If you don’t like it, I’m happy to take it off.”

“Don’t.” The word is a threat, a challenge, and an invitation all at once.

Adrenaline races through my blood at the menace in his eyes. Good. I’m angry, too. Even in Lunameade, I can’t escape my unwanted husband.

“Mere days into this marriage and you’re already inviting another man up to your room?” Henry asks.

I purse my lips. “I didn’t think you’d be so sentimental.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “It’s not sentimentality. It’s pride. You don’t shame a man like this.”

“Or? What will happen?” I ask, pushing my lower lip into an exaggerated pout.

I shouldn’t push him, but making him crazy is one of the few joys left in my life.

Shane shifts the chair forward as he tries to yank his hands free. He only succeeds in drawing Henry’s attention.

“I didn’t know she was married. This is clearly a private conversation. If you untie me, I can see myself out,” Shane says.

He looks terrified. Divine know what Henry said to him before I arrived.

“Are you feeling more talkative and less handsy now?” I ask.

He glances warily at Henry.

“Don’t mind my husband. I’m sure he would love to hear about your correspondence from Rochelli. I want to hear more about what you were talking about downstairs.”

Shane tugs on the bindings around his wrists and looks from me to Henry. “Yes.”

“You work with the rebels?” Henry says slowly.

Shane nods.

“And you thought you would talk to Harlow Carrenwell about your spy work?”

I sigh. So much for not killing him. Henry just ensured I can’t let him leave this room.

Shane’s head snaps toward me. “I thought it was a glamour. I didn’t think you were actually a Carrenwell. Lots of the—professional women just do it for the fantasy. I didn’t know. I⁠—”

His words aren’t slurred anymore, but he doesn’t seem entirely sober either. Hopefully, this is the sweet spot for interrogating him.

“Relax, Shane,” I say. “I’m not going to sell you out. I just want to know what you know about Rochelli and the missing women.”

Henry’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I don’t know anything. I was just drunk and bragging,” Shane says.

Henry sighs and shakes his head. “Come now, Shane. You clearly had a purpose in bringing my wife up here. I can tell you the one thing that gets her going is information. Isn’t that right, lovely?”

I don’t want to share all of this with Henry, but I’m almost positive from the way his aura is shifting and the look in his eyes that he’s holding himself back from killing Shane immediately with great effort. If I don’t ask now, I might never get a chance to.

“It’s so sweet how you pretend to know what gets me going,” I taunt. His aura presses wider, but I ignore him and focus on our captive. “Do you know who Rochelli is, Shane?”

Shane laughs and shakes his head. “No one knows who he is. Some people think he’s a group of people. Some think he’s actually a she and that no one would suspect a woman because men of Lunameade underestimate women’s intelligence.”

I think of Bea again, but I can’t fathom how she would do it, or how she would have kept it from me until now.

“They’re not wrong about that,” Henry says. “Men here are very foolish. If you don’t know who Rochelli is, how do you communicate with him?”

Shane shifts, subtly tugging against the bindings on the chair. “Letters. A note comes to my house with the number of one of the public mailboxes in the city and the combination to unlock it. It’s different every time—never in the same quadrant and no rhyme or reason to the numbers.”

My stomach churns. As the Poison Vixen, I rent a few mailboxes around the city and rotate them each month to avoid being caught. The women who vet clients for me give our clients a mailbox number and a code just like this. The process is alarmingly close to the one I use—the process Bea suggested.

“Why did you get recruited?” Henry asks. “What makes them trust you?”

Shane looks toward the door and then back at Henry. “I don’t have a blessing, but I manage accounts for several of the high magical houses. I think I was invited because I have access and because I spoke out openly at a city meeting about the second monthly blood tax. My mother technically qualifies, but she has a bleeding disease. While the healer can heal the wound, it’s costly for us to pay them twice a month, and it’s a risk for her every time she’s cut. I got especially heated at a meeting six months back, and that’s when the first message arrived at my door.”

I frown. “And you just went with it?”

Shane shakes his head. “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought it was a trap. But I followed the instructions. It was simple enough. I just had to leave some healing supplies—gauze, alcohol, a tincture for pain—with a woman at a bar. I didn’t know anything about her and she didn’t know anything about me. I simply went to the booth I was told to go to and she was waiting for me. I gave her the package and left. The next day, there was a pouch of coins left in my home mailbox.”

“But you’re so quick to give him up now?” I challenge.

Shane shakes his head. “No, I don’t know enough to give him up. I think that’s how this has gone on for so long. No one knows enough. I met different people and dropped things in different locations. I think they wanted me because I work with a lot of people who come in and out of the magical houses, and I myself visit them quite a bit. Some people I’ve met claim there are meetings around the city, but I’ve never been to one of those.”

“Then how did you know about the women?” I ignore Henry’s eyes on me.

Shane tries to itch his nose on his shoulder and then gives up after an awkward attempt. “One of the men I met tonight when I was making a drop was talking about it. I was running late and he’d clearly been drinking while he waited. He just started gossiping about how the missing women weren’t an accident—that they were payment to stave off the Drained.”

Henry’s aura pulses out wide. “What do you mean?”

Shane nods to his vest pocket and wiggles his hands. “He had a note from Rochelli. I swiped it.”

I cross the room and pat his vest pocket, only vaguely aware of Henry coming closer. I pull out a small piece of parchment and unfold it. The penmanship is remarkably neat, but also distinct in the swoops of the letters.

These women are not merely victims of the thirsty Drained. They are the payment the Carrenwells offer to keep these evolved monsters at bay and⁠—

Henry swipes the note out of my hand.

“I was reading that—and it’s evidence,” I snap.

“I’d like to see what you earned with that dress,” he says.

I reach for the letter, but Henry spins away from me. His eyes rapidly scan the page, and he dodges two more of my attempts to grab it. I trip on the hem of my dress and pitch toward the fire. Henry grabs me around the waist.

The scene plays out in slow motion: Henry releases the parchment to grab me. The letter flutters directly into the fire.

I stare at it in disbelief as Henry pulls me upright. He follows my gaze and curses.

The ink bubbles and the paper turns black. Just like that, the one piece of evidence we had is nothing but ashes.

Henry has been, at all times, annoyingly graceful for someone I expected to be a burly mountain oaf. But that was uncharacteristically clumsy. I try to contain my suspicion. For months I’ve believed that Rafe is the only viable option for Rochelli, but Henry snatching the note and fumbling it feels convenient.

“What is wrong with you?” I snap.

“With me?” He takes a step toward me, and I step back. “What’s wrong with you? Going out with no glamour in that indecent dress and inviting a man to go upstairs with you. Interrogating him yourself? What if he had tried something?”

I glare at Henry. “He did try something, and oh—look at that. I’m fine and he’s tied to a chair.”

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything she didn’t want to do,” Shane interjects. “I just made some incorrect assumptions about why she brought me up here.”

Henry shoots a murderous look at Shane. “Oh, and what did you think, Harlow? How were you planning on getting information out of him?”

It would be wiser not to press him when he’s angry, but I’m angry too. “I was planning to do whatever it took to entice him.”

Henry grabs my arm and drags me toward the bed.

I grunt. “What are you⁠—”

He sits down and yanks me down on his lap, facing away from him. He hooks my legs outside of his and the slit in my dress rides up so high, my lace undergarments peek out. I try to pull my arms free, but Henry has them trapped behind my back, between our bodies.

Shane watches us, torn between curiosity and fear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I squirm against Henry, but he has a firm grip on me.

He nips at my neck. “You wanted to play, little wife. I’m here to play your games.”

“I didn’t want to play with you,” I snap.

“And that’s exactly why I’m here,” he growls. “You can play with me or not at all.”

I struggle against his hold, but he has my arms pinned tight.

Henry ignores my struggles as he brushes his nose up the column of my throat and pauses beside my ear. He trails his fingers up my leg and toys with the lace peeking out at my hip. “What color is this?”

“Bright red.”

He hums, and the vibration of it raises goosebumps on my skin. “What word do you say if you want me to stop?”

I shiver with anticipation. The ritual was one thing, but electing to let him touch me, maybe even fuck me, in front of a stranger fills me with a mixture of heat and anticipation. It’s less that I like that Shane is watching and more the possessive way Henry is touching me. Like he’s cursed by his desire.

“What do you say, Harlow?” he repeats.

This is the distraction I really needed. I’ve been so tense all day. If this game makes him want me more, that can only help this deviation from my original mission.

“Stars,” I say.

He nips at my earlobe. “Good girl.” His thumb gently strokes my inner thigh. “Do you have anything to say, lovely?”

I feel a mixture of shame and lust. I love and loathe that he’s making me admit that I want this. “No.”

Henry slides his hand up the slit of my dress, throws it open, and presses his legs out, wrenching mine even wider.

“Is this what you were hoping to see, Shane? These lace underwear I picked out for her?” Henry asks.

Shane looks torn—unsure if he should be honest and agree or deny it. He nods slowly.

Henry hums, looking down between my legs and petting me through the lace. He clicks his tongue. “Naughty wife. So wet already just from giving Shane a glimpse.”

The low rumble of his voice, laced with interest and disapproval, is only making me wetter.

Shane’s eyes light up. He’s an idiot. I can tell he’s not nearly as drunk anymore, but he seems to actually believe that Henry is playing some game. Shane has no sense of danger. It’s a wonder he’s made it this long living in Lunameade.

Henry teases me with a few soft strokes. “What do you think, Harlow? Do you want him to watch? Should we offer him something since he gave us such good information?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. A loud rip rends the air as Henry tears the delicate lace.

Shane licks his lips as he looks on.

I’m humiliated and annoyed at how turned on I am by the lack of control. I like to be in charge. I don’t know why I’m enjoying letting him grope me in front of a stranger.

Henry drags a hand up my inner thigh. I crane my neck to meet his deep blue eyes and force every bit of frustration into the words when I say, “I hate you.”

Henry shoves the torn panties in my mouth to shut me up. He gives me a light slap on my pussy and chuckles at my muffled yelp. Then, he smiles conspiratorially at Shane. “That’s much better. She does get mouthy sometimes, and not in the fun way.”

I hate that I like his deranged possessiveness. I don’t want to belong to anyone, and I know this isn’t true jealousy, but something about the low, feral tone of Henry’s voice and the way he seems like he might actually hurt this man for even trying to sleep with me is really turning me on.

Henry guides my hand down between my legs and murmurs into my ear, “Feel how wet you are for me? Your loathing would be more believable if you weren’t dripping.”

He squeezes two of my fingers together and pushes them inside me.

I groan.

Henry holds my wrist and makes me fuck myself with my fingers as Shane looks on. “Tell me, Shane. What were you planning to do to her before you knew she was happily married?” he asks.

“Nothing. I⁠—”

“Come on, now. I really loathe being lied to. Go on and be honest.”

Shane looks at me as if I have the answers, but I’m too focused on the building pressure in my body and the way Henry is forcing me to finger-fuck myself faster. He controls my movements entirely. I’m a puppet in his hands.

He brings his other hand up, slides the dress strap off my left shoulder, and pulls down the lace bustier beneath it, baring my breast. He cups it in his palm, kneading it and rolling my nipple between his fingers. His other hand is unrelenting, pumping my slick fingers in and out of my pussy as his thumb brushes over my clit.

I drop my head back onto his shoulder and notice his aura. It’s a deep plum color and tendrils of it curl out around me, sweeping up and down my body like they’re petting me—up my inner thighs, over my arms and breasts, and down my stomach. I can’t feel them, but seeing the possessiveness in his aura sends a rush of wet heat between my thighs.

The panties barely muffle my next moan. The tension is getting more intense. Henry’s enjoying keeping me right on the edge. It’s frustrating that he’s so good at this—that he’s so quickly come to understand the rhythm of me that he can bring my pleasure up slowly and suspend me right where he wants. If I couldn’t see his aura, I might believe his Divine blessing was from Kennymyra.

He pinches my clit, and I cry out.

“You see, Shane, we’re newlyweds,” Henry says. “And my wife really likes attention. That’s why she wears such scandalous dresses. But I think she’s most beautiful when she’s like this, don’t you agree?”

Alarm creeps over Shane’s face. I think he’s finally starting to realize that I’m not the only one who’s fucked.

“Say my wife is beautiful, Shane,” Henry snaps.

I pant around the panties stuffed in my mouth. I’m so wet, and the way he’s humiliating Shane now is making me hot all over.

“She’s beautiful,” Shane stammers. “Her eyes are really stunning.”

Henry moves my hand faster. My climax is just a breath away.

“Her eyes?” Henry scoffs. “I’ve shown you all of this, and you’re talking about her eyes.”

Shane swallows hard. It should not be this hot to watch Henry humiliate this man who thought he was going to fuck me however he wanted, but I’m insanely aroused. Or maybe just insane. Maybe this is my madness.

“Her breasts are perfect. Perky and just the right size,” Shane says. “They were the first thing I noticed since she was showing them off so much.”

“And?” Henry prods. “What about this beautiful bare pussy? I wasn’t expecting it on our wedding night, but she wanted me to have a perfect view of what’s mine.”

If my underwear weren’t jammed in my mouth, I would tell him I underwent a treatment years ago from a healer who specialized in removing body hair. It had nothing to do with him or my wedding, and everything to do with keeping male partners from getting lost.

He pumps my fingers faster still, and I gasp.

“She’s very tight, you know. Isn’t that right, lovely?” He nuzzles my neck. “Didn’t I have to stretch you out and go nice and deep on our wedding night?”

I moan and squirm against him. I’m so tense from the day, and I need this release. As I shift, I feel Henry’s hard cock pressed against my backside.

I freeze. Is he actually going to fuck me right here in front of Shane—not for some ceremony, but because he wants to?

I didn’t think we would have sex again after our wedding night. Spite is usually the only motivation I require. But all the stress of the wedding and the Breeder and the fear that Aidia might be hurt is exhausting. If he wanted to right now, I would let him. Just thinking about him stretching me wide has me clenching around my fingers.

He grips my wrist and forces me to fuck myself harder, as if he wants to punish me for enjoying this game.

“I’ve never fucked a bare pussy,” Shane says.

I can’t fathom why Shane would be so forthcoming. He has to realize how screwed he is. Surely he can read Henry’s very obvious anger. Then again, he also thought I was a woman to mess with, so maybe he’s just not great at reading people.

“Is that what you wanted to do when you brought her up here?” Henry asks.

“I wanted her to sit on my face. I wanted to taste her.”

I watch Henry’s mouth tip into a grin in my peripheral. “And? Is that all you wanted to do?” His aura stretches out long fingers, almost like it’s shoving at Shane’s chest in challenge.

Shane clears his throat. “I wanted to hold her down and watch her struggle as I fucked some respect into her.”

“I know the feeling,” Henry says. “And why did you think you had a right to do that?”

Shane nods toward my rumpled gown. “She wore that dress and brought me up here alone. I know what she wanted even if she wouldn’t say so directly. All women need a firm hand from time to time.”

Henry’s chuckle is low and lethal as he pumps my hand faster. I’m so close, the tension in my belly hurts. I just need a little more friction and I will go right over the edge.

Instead, Henry pulls my hand away and swats my pussy hard. I grunt in frustration from the spoiled orgasm as much as from the stinging pain on my sensitive flesh.

Henry holds my hand up in front of my face and nips at my ear. “Summon your magic to those fingers.”

The failed orgasm has me seeing red. I want to punch him, but I listen, watching as my fingers turn dark purple.

Henry wrenches me up to stand and drags me to Shane.

“You tried to take something from her that wasn’t given freely,” Henry growls. “The only taste of my wife you’ll ever get will be your last.”

He shoves my poison fingers, still soaked from my pussy, into Shane’s mouth.

Shane has no idea what he’s doing. He clearly thinks this is a kink because he sucks my fingers hard and groans.

Henry goes so still at the sound that I wonder if he’ll rip the man’s throat out before my poison can kill him.

I’m spared the suspense when Shane’s face goes suddenly pale. He tries to clear his throat but starts to choke. His mouth foams and his eyes go comically wide as he struggles to breathe.

The sound of his head going limp against the back of the chair snaps me out of my haze.

I yank my panties out of my mouth. “You brute! He had information. Why would you kill him before we asked more questions?” I snap, wrenching myself away from Henry and spinning to face him.

The look in his eye is lethal and half-crazed. “What’s wrong with me?”

I take an instinctive step back, shrugging my shoulder strap back into place.

“You came out in public in that dress that is hardly appropriate for a bedroom, brought yet another man who isn’t me upstairs with you, and, from the sound of things, were nearly assaulted in the process.”

I shove his chest. “I took care of it. He had valuable information and loose lips. I thought I could entice him to share more.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, one fist clenched at his side. “You’re my wife, and as much of a performance as that may be for you, I expect you to at the very least be discreet.”

“You’re jealous.” I smile, and a terrible idea pops into my head. “You thought your cock was going to be the next one in my mouth, and you’re disappointed he beat you to it. I know it’s hard to manage disappointment, but⁠—”

Henry is on me in a second, pinning me to the wall, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip. “Stop trying to rile me up because I denied you an orgasm. Given how much you show off, I thought you would be pleased to have another opportunity to perform.”

I wish I had never let him touch me. I’m furious with myself for letting him when I don’t trust him. When I need to keep my head.

Hyperaware of his proximity, I want him to step away so I can have some space to think. But a bigger part of me doesn’t want him to step away at all. That part of me wants him to finish what he started.

He lifts his hand from my hair. When I flinch, he freezes with his hand in the air. “There’s a flower petal.”

“Oh.” I’m mortified by the unnecessary vigilance, by the way I’ve just confirmed something he suspected.

He plucks something from the top of my head and holds up a pale white petal.

I stare at it in his palm.

He clenches his jaw. “Harlow. Why did you flinch?”

I force myself to meet his eyes with as much defiance as I can muster. “Because you’re an animal.”

Henry’s eyes narrow. “Not that kind of animal.” He steps away and runs a hand over his face. “We learned something valuable tonight. I’m sorry about the note. I didn’t mean to drop it. I think I can write down what it said.”

I appraise him skeptically, body still buzzing.

He crosses the room, unties the bindings on Shane’s wrists, and fastens the cords on the curtains where they belong. Then, he gestures toward the door.

“I should get you home. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

I want to argue, but we’re literally in a room with a dead body. A poisoned dead body. I never stay at a scene this long. I’m getting sloppy—or, rather, Henry is making me sloppy.

He grabs his coat from the bed and tosses it at me. “Put that on.”

I pull on the oversized coat, take his arm, and let him lead me away from yet another poisoned corpse.

OceanofPDF.com