Page 36 of Thrown to the Wolves

The way her body felt against mine, the taste of her tears on my lips.

Something tells me Hades might not look too kindly on me sleeping with a target.

“Here. This one,” I say when I’m done, handing Hadria a simple raw silk suit, the lines sharp and clean. The fabric is a soft ivory. It’s understated elegance at its finest.

She slips it on, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. The suit molds to her body like a second skin, the raw silk whispering as she turns around to check her ass. “God, I was starting to think I’d have to look like a wedding cake. But this…this is nice.”

I nod, taking in the way the suit hugs her lean frame. “It suits you.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, although Hadria doesn’t seem to notice, transfixed on her reflection. I take a breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to suggest. The words feel heavy on my tongue, each one a pebble I’m forcing myself to spit out.

“You know, this Scarlett—I was thinking she could be a good recruit for the Syndicate. Once we get her away from Grandmother.”

Hadria’s head snaps around from the mirror to meet my eyes, astonishment in her pale eyes. “Absolutely not. Anyone who hurts the Syndicate must be made an example of. The assassin dies, as soon as this Grandmother is dealt with. I’m surprised to even hear you suggest it.”

She turns back to the mirror again, smoothing down the suit with a critical eye. Her reflection smiles back at her, the cold calculation in her eyes softening for a moment. “Do you think Aurora will like it?” she asks.

I force a smile, pushing down my protests about Scarlett. The thought of Aurora, with her wide-eyed innocence and gentle soul—traits she maintained even through my training—is a painful contrast to the shadows I find myself in with Scarlett. “She’ll love it. Leave the meringue dress to her.”

Hadria nods, satisfied with my answer. But as we leave the boutique, the dark sky lightening to pre-dawn, I’m not so satisfied.

I don’t want to kill Scarlett.

The realization has been coming slow, just like the sunrise that makes me blink as I say goodbye to Hadria outside the boutique. But it’s unmistakable, now that I see it.

I don’t want to kill her.

I told her I feel responsible for her creation, because I didn’t kill Grandmother when I had the chance. And that was true, but…it’s more than that. I see myself in her. Her rage is so familiar, so tempting. I want to help her. To give her a chance, the way I found mine.

And I don’t really know why. She’s no innocent, that’s for sure. She’s killed our people and that’s unforgivable. But there’s something under that hard shell that Grandmother has formed over her. A naiveté, perhaps?

Sometimes, the things she says…they hit me right in the gut. It’s not fair, she said. Of course things aren’t fair. But she actually thinks they should be. Scarlett doesn’t really understand the way the world works. I find naiveté irritating, usually—like Suzy Sunshine at first. But Aurora grew on me.

So has Scarlett, I guess.

But I’m loyal to the Syndicate. To Hadria. I’ve always done what needs to be done, no matter the cost. And if Hadria says Scarlett must die…then that’s what will happen.

Even if it means burying a part of myself along with her.

I take a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs. The city is quiet at this hour, the streets empty save for the occasional stray cat or early morning jogger. It’s a moment of peace in a world that knows none, a fleeting glimpse of what life could be like if I was anyone else.

But I’m not anyone else. I’m Lyssa, the Wolf of the Styx Syndicate, soon to be the most feared and respected organization in Chicago. We have a reputation to uphold. There’s no room for sentiment, no place for the glow of warmth that I feel when I think about Scarlett.

I push my feelings down, locking them away in the same place I keep all my other weaknesses. The place that Grandmother tried so hard to burn out of me, the place that I’ve fought tooth and nail to keep down ever since I left. It’s a battle I wage every day, a war against my own humanity.

Humanity is not useful to someone like me. So I need to forget about Scarlett’s grief, forget about the guilty I feel for leaving Grandmother alive, and focus on getting the intel I need.

“Enough,” I mutter, as I reach my motorbike. Time to focus on the video again. I sent a copy to myself, so I’ve watched it over and over by now.

Who the hell was that woman, and why was she trying so hard to make it look like she was me?

CHAPTER 18

Scarlett

“Well, it could be Ariadne,” I say in slow response to Lyssa’s question. "Maybe."

We’re meeting again in another dingy hotel, and I can’t help remembering what happened last time we were in a place like this.

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