Page 5 of Lost Girl

“Problem solved?” he asks her.

Tinksley smirks and proceeds to open her ebony coat, enough to reveal the various blood splatters bedecking her pale skin. “I’d say so, yes.”

The man hums in approval, then slowly shifts his focus my way. A small gasp shoots free from my mouth at his inquisitive stare, an ill shiver rattling its way down my spine. My heart rate picks up, too, hands balling into fists at my sides for some sort of purchase.

“I take it that this is Pan’s little plaything?” he queries, head cocking aside.

Tinksley chuckles, releasing me in nothing short of disgust. “Plaything, no. The wench he loved before and after me, yes. Armand, this is Wendy Darlington. Wendylocks, this is Armand Cadeau.”

Introduction or not, I don’t speak a word. Neither does he. He simply stares, pupils dilating with every passing moment.

Is he one of them, too?

I keep waiting to see those demonic black veins ripple beneath his eyes, but they never come. Instead, he reaches out a hand, nearly jolting me out of my own skin in the process.

“Smee might like her,” he muses, twirling a finger around a singular lock of my hair.

I’m trying not to react any more than I already have, but I find myself shivering beneath his feather-light touch nonetheless.

Hook laughs softly and I’m not sure if it’s spurred from my reaction or Armand’s. “Mmm, yes, well—too bad she isn’t here for Samuel.”

“Might be for the best anyway. Sam seems to still be caught up in his little witchy drama. She might be more Kaz and Malik’s speed. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sharing her.”

Sharing her?

What the hell is he—

“She’s not here for any of you,” Tinksley clarifies, capturing not only my attention, but Armand’s as well. “Though, I don’t particularly care what you do with her, if you can do me a favor, that is.”

At that, he eases back, dark brow arched in question. “And what would that be?”

“Take her downstairs.”

Given how his expression darkens, I know this can’t be good, not by any means. My mouth pops open, sheer milliseconds from protesting against any such thing, when Tinksley shakes her head, lifting a finger to her lips.

“Silence, remember? For your own good.”

Panic seizes me, eyes widening in realization. They reallyaregoing to kill me. That, or whatever awaits me downstairs includes all the things meant to torture me to my death.

“Please don’t do this,” I plead, hoping the vulnerable woman in me will somehow speak to the woman—one that’s had to have been vulnerable at least once—in her.

But it doesn’t do much of anything.

She shakes her head again, right as Armand’s hand wraps around my arm. “Just cooperate and all will be well, little Wendy.”

What does that even mean?

Ihavecooperated, since before she and Hook hurled me out the window and across the portal with them. Aside from the few screams that threatened to break free, I stood there helpless in Hook’s grip as they interrogated us, as he fed off me, as Tinksley murdered the man I love in cold blood right before my very eyes.

“What does that even mean?” The question slips past my lips of its own accord, but Armand’s already whisked me off, leading me down a long, dimly lit corridor.

He doesn’t answer me, either, stare trained straight ahead.

“Where are we going?” I’m more frantic now, stomach roiling in full-blown trepidation.

“You heard her.” His voice is deathly quiet. “Downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?”

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