Page 29 of Kingmakers, Year Four

She’s the only way to hurt him.

I could make it look like an accident. No one knows we’re down here, except for Dean. He’d keep my secret, just like he kept Cat’s. Just likeI’vekept Cat’s secret.

My body blazes with anger so hot that I no longer feel the chill of the water. My heart pounds like a voice in my ears saying,Do it. Do it. Do it.

That’s not the plan, though.

I have to follow the plan.

The wolf hunts with the pack.

That’s what I was taught. The fundamental law of my family: alone we’re weak, together strong.

So I force myself to take long, steady breaths. I feel the cool water flow over my skin. I listen to Nix’s breathing on the other side of the pool. When I think she’s finally beginning to tire of her marathon swim, I cross to the stairs and climb out, grabbing a towel off the stack against the wall.

The Kingmaker’s towels are as rough as the blankets. Nothing here was made for luxury, only durability. These stone walls will stand for a thousand years beyond any one of our families.

And none will end sooner than the house of Moroz.

I dry my hair, pretending not to notice as Nix likewise finishes her laps, swimming toward the stairs.

I hear her climbing out. I can’t help looking up.

The water streams down her body. The black swimsuit and the dark auburn of her wet hair contrast her pale flesh. Her hair is reedy as seaweed, her skin taking on the queer green cast of the water. Her eyes are long and narrow, iridescent as abalone.

She looks like a mermaid taking human form.

The ancient kind of mermaid—mysterious and malevolent, luring sailors to their death beneath the cold, dark waves.

I hate her, and yet I’m transfixed by her.

I see her father’s height, his coloring . . .

Her body is all long, smooth lines: strong shoulders, athletic taper to her waist, and an endless stretch of thighs beneath the high-cut legs of the school swimsuit.

I’ve never seen a girl look so powerful.

I don’t want her powerful.

I want to destroy everything she knows and loves.

She must see some hint of this in my face because she pauses mid-step, droplets pattering down on the white limestone steps.

“Hello, Ares,” she says.

She’s watching me closely, tense in the shoulders.

I force myself to smile—friendly and disarming. Like Ares would do.

“Here,” I say. “Have a towel.”

I hand her a fresh folded towel from the stack. My skin crawls when our wet fingers briefly touch.

Nix takes the towel, still eying me warily.

I have to be more careful. I’ll never convince her to trust me if I’m holding back a snarl every time I look at her.

“You’re an excellent swimmer,” I say.

---