Page 88 of The Blood we Crave

How exciting.

“You’re full of shit, Thatcher.” He says. “You know I wouldn’t put her at risk.”

He says it like it’s his job to look out for her. As if he is the all mighty responsible one in charge of each of us. I wonder what he would do if he knew I allow him to be in charge?

That I let him think he’s in control because I know he’ll disintegrate if he’s not. That he has never, not once, being in charge of what I do or who I am.

“Yeah?” I furrow my eyebrows, my eyes slitting as I lean close to his face, my mouth a breath away from his nose. “Then why didn’t you offer Briar? Why not Sage?”

Lyra and I may be complicated, we may very well be done with whatever was transpiring. But she did not need to be put in harm’s way, especially, not for the sake of me and the boys.

The thought of Easton Sinclair laying a single filthy hand on her made something volatile rupture in me. I didn’t want her near him, not even breathing the same air as that inadequately dressed daddy’s boy.

Tonight she’d be wandering around the circus following his every move, listening for information we may need. She’d have to watch the way he moves all night, tune in to his voice, monitor each footstep. A job I knew she was capable of, but I didn’t want her doing.

Not with Easton.

Alistair’s eyebrows twitch, pulling inward. “Are you telling me youcareabout her?”

“Just an observation, Caldwell.”

He shakes his head, sneering, “So let’s get something straight, Thatcher. You’re telling me that Lyra Abbott means to you what Briar does to me, or are you just being petty?”

My mouth moves before I can think better of it. Before I get ahold of my control and reel in the part of me that wants to disengage anyone who has a passing thought about my darling phantom.

I dig my finger into his chest. “You have no idea what she is to me.” I say with a vicious snarl.

Luckily, that’s all I get out, before I remind myself that trying to explain it to him would be pointless. He could never understand what she means to me. What her soul is to the world.

What he feels for Briar is a kernel, a speck, compared to what I share with Lyra Abbott. The power she could have over me is something no one has ever come close to.

It’s why it’s so imperative that she stays far, far away from me.

He flinches at my words, something I can’t read lives inside of his eyes and I’ve never despised him as much as I do right now. Like he can see into me without me saying anything.

As if Lyra is the one secret, the one part of my conscience I can’t hide from anyone. She lives on the surface, refusing to be tucked away.

“Nothing will happen to her. I promise you.” He says, his voice losing its edge.

“Keep your promises for someone who needs them.” I say, staring at him for a moment longer before pulling away.

I walk to the bed scooping up my jacket, sliding the material over my arms and giving myself a onceover in the mirror before heading towards the door to begin this disaster of a night.

With ease, I slip a hand into my pocket, running my fingers along the cool metal inside. The engravings that live on both sides dig into the pads of my fingers.

“You better hope you’re right, Alistair. If anything happens to her.” I grip it in my palm, pulling it out and flipping it absentmindedly over my shoulder towards him. “Not even our friendship can protect you from me.”

I leave him there with the sound of Charon’s obol ringing in the air.

crimson haze

SEVENTEEN

thatcher

One of two things were true.

Lyra was late, or she was dead.

---