Page 8 of A Sin So Pure

A flash of blond hair framing full freckled cheeks has me biting my bottom lip.

“Can you blame me?”

Josie laughs, shaking her head as she opens the door to my office.

“No, I can’t.”

It had taken longer than I anticipated for Wes and me to drop the tonics off at our human-side warehouse before crossing back into Anwynn. We had to use the main portal since we drove, which takes forever between the travel logs and Wrath’s security checks. Between that and my inner circle taking an entirehourto review their weekly updates, I’m all too quick to slam our smuggled trophy onto my desk and finish this meeting.

And as much as Josie likes to poke fun, the whole team is joining us at the Den for drinks tonight; Iknowthey’re all itching to let loose as much as I am. Especially since I’m the one who’s paying.

They sit three across on the other side of my desk. I study them in the silence, waiting for their reactions.

Josie stares at the tonic with her unreadable poker face. With her ability to peer into people’s minds—a rare empath gift—she’s the most calculated and reserved of my advisers.

Claude leans back in his chair, which is much too small for his bulk, and scratches the dark stubble on his chin. His reddish-brown hair is cropped short, the color much like Wes’s and their father’s before them. He’s not gifted with magic, unlike his brother, but he’s loyal and knows the ropes.

Hattie, on the other hand, broadcasts every thought and feeling that crosses her mind without restraint. Her head bobbles in disbelief, her white-blond curls bouncing around her neck. Wide, downturned doe-eyes, which are perpetually smudged with mascara on the bottom lash line, blink once, twice, then?—

“Is that what I think it is?” Hattie asks. She looks to Claude, then Josie, then back to me. She inches forward, eyes nearly crossing as she inspects the amber liquid through the glass. “I thought it’d be more… glittery. Bein’ magic and all.”

Josie snorts. “Do you sparkle when you shadow-walk?”

Hattie pouts, her pink bottom lip jutting out. “No. But I wish I did. I’d look like starlight.”

Meanwhile, Claude reaches forward, grabbing the bottle and inspecting the label.

“Go on, take a whiff,” I say. “It’s nasty stuff.”

He pops the cork and sniffs, immediately coughing at the industrial-strength healing tonic.

“How do we know it works?” he asks.

I pull my dagger from the holster at my ribs—one side holds my gun and the other my knife. The leather straps wrap my weapons around me like an armored cocoon. I flip the blade so the sharp metal rests against my palm and hold the handle out to Claude.

“Go on.”

His shoulders stiffen, but he nods, pulling the knife from my grip. He makes to slice his own forearm, but I cut him off.

“No, not yours.”

I push one sleeve up and jab my arm at him.

His chocolate-brown eyes meet mine with a sheen of confusion; my predecessor was the type to let others take pain for him. Claude is still learning that I am not.

He nods, then grips my palm with one hand, slicing a line across my outer forearm with the other. Blood quickly wells at the open wound.

I grab the tonic, quickly throwing a shot back. Grassy, herbal notes mixed with rubbing alcohol hit my tongue. Then, the telltale tickle of magic rushes over my arm, dulling the cut’s sting and stitching my skin back together.

Josie hands me a handkerchief and I wipe away the pooled blood from my forearm. It takes a few swipes to rid my skin of the red streaks, but once I’m done, my skin is as clear as it was before the blade touched down.

“See? Works perfectly fine,” I say. I grab the knife and clean that too. “Claude, you’ll be in charge of distribution when the time comes. Usual vendors should work. Bring Wesley along with you too. He should learn the routes.”

“About Wes.” Claude clears his throat. “He was askin’ about his clipping the other day.”

I freeze midway in working the handkerchief over the blade, ice filling my veins.

“I’m proud of you.” The words are foreign on Pride’s tongue, but they are spoken nonetheless.

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