Page 85 of The Blood we Crave

“We voted, Thatcher. You lost. It’s no longer up to you,” Rook interrupts with an intense tone, one I’ve only rarely heard from him, “It’s up to Lyra.”

Thatch tightens his jaw, staring at Rook with a harsh glare. “It’s a reckless idea, one that shouldn’t have been brought to vote.”

“Reckless cause it’s me?” Rook bites, “Or because you didn’t come up with it first. Don’t worry, fragile one, you can have all the credit if it means you’ll pull that stick out from your ass.”

Friend against friend.

Whatever this plan is, it’s brought two inseparable people toe to toe. Literally. Thatcher’s black dress shoes touch the tips of Rook’s Van’s, the four-inch difference in height giving Thatch the advantage as he stares down at what could only be described as a living flame.

“There are easier ways to die, Van Doren.” Thatcher sneers, his teeth shining in the moonlight as he grins, “But if you want to play, we can play.”

This is two seconds shy of being a brutal brawl that I have no desire to watch. Knowing both of their rage directed at one another would make for an equally bloody fight.

Rook takes a draw of his cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into his friend’s face with a smirk of his own. “Try me.”

I take a step towards them, placing a hand on Rook’s shoulder as I gaze towards his friend that looks intent of bringing a little blood into their verbal argument.

“Calm down,” I say lightly. “Just tell me what you need from me. I don’t mind helping.”

Thatcher’s gaze shoots straight to my hand, resting on another man’s shoulder.

“They want you to get close to Easton.” He bites, never taking his eyes off my fingers. “Lead you to him, like a sheep to slaughter. Bait.”

My eyebrows furrow and I glance at Alistair for confirmation pulling my hand back into my pockets.

“He’s dramatic.” Alistair says, with a sigh. “We just need you to close enough to watch him. Every time we try to get close, he notices us. We need someone quiet who can watch his movements, listen in on conversations that are private. That’s all.”

Pride.

It surges through me in waves. People before had never needed me, not like this. And although they were scouting me out for my invisibility, it still felt nice to be needed.

Even though it was dangerous, I wanted to be a part of this. To help those missing girls and my friends. Up to this point, I’d felt helpless, but this was my chance. To help them gather information, to maybe figure out who is running the Halo so we can end this for good.

What didn’t make sense, is why was Thatch so against it.

“We won’t let anything happen to, contrary to what he thinks,” Alistair says, tossing his head towards Thatch with a grunt, “It’s completely up to you.”

They need a ghost. Someone that is invisible, that can listen to the whispers that bounce off the walls of secret discussions. A person that blends in to the point of camouflage.

And that’s me.

I look at Thatcher, thinking about what he asked of me in the shower weighing my options of going against him and helping the people I care about. His eyes silently beg me to refuse, walk away and pretend they never asked me.

So I look away from him.

“When should I start?”

bitter is the war of brothers

SIXTEEN

thatcher

Rule number twenty-two: Prepare for the consequences of your own actions.

It was one of the more difficult lessons to learn as a child. To revolt against your natural instincts and accept that your normal was not the same as anyone else’s.

There had been this cat that somehow managed to sneak its way onto the estate. It was mewling and digging around in the garden when I’d found it covered in dirt with its fur matted.

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