Page 61 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

At least, I think that’s what the flyer said.

“Have you tried telling him no? That you have zero interest in taking his place on the board or owning the town?”

“Every chance I get. I’m super polite about it too. I add a ‘go to hell’ after every conversation.”

I stifle a laugh as my tongue licks the remnants of raspberry filling off my lips. Students mingle in every corner of the Salvatore Dining Hall. Golden hearts are sprinkled across the floor, red light reflecting off the murals painted across the ceiling, and cheesy music plays from the speakers.

“Where is Rook?” I ask, looking through the crowd of students on the dance floor, all wearing various masks. “We’re supposed to be in recon mode, and my job is to provide you two with an alibi in case something sketchy goes down. How am I supposed to do that when I only have half of the twisted sisters?”

“You only came for the sweets.” Alistair leers. “He’s probably toking in the bathroom. God knows he’s not getting through this night without smoking.”

He tugs at his tie, pulling it loose around his neck. He pushes the silver mask up on his head, and I can see he’s twenty seconds from lighting up a cigarette in the middle of this room.

“I meant to tell you this sooner.” I chew the inside of my lip, looking at his side profile. “But I’m sorry for what I said at the funeral. It wasn’t your fault what happened to me. You’re only trying to protect B, I get it.”

I’d been angry the day we laid May to rest. Rage was brewing, and I took it out on him. I wanted the world to mourn the way I was, and I was so blinded by my pain that I didn’t see just how hurt Alistair already was by all of this.

He turns his gaze, looking at me carefully. “And you were protecting Thatcher. Never apologize to me for that.”

I nod, an understanding passing between us that we would do whatever we needed to in order to keep the people we care about safe. Love is not always a pretty emotion. Sometimes, it turns you into a wrathful, vengeance-seeking creature. One that will shred anything that poses a threat.

“I haven’t seen Easton tonight. You think he skipped it?”

“Probably. His father is here though—he wasted no time chatting up my mother. My money is on Godfrey showing up.”

There’s zero love lost between Alistair and Stephen Sinclair, regardless of his involvement in the Halo. The affair between Stephen and Elise Caldwell had done enough damage to that relationship over the years.

“Not if he’s smart. It should take at least a month for an injury like that to heal.” I press the glass of champagne to my lips, taking a sip.

“I wonder—” Alistair’s smirk is all-knowing. “—what does one do to deserve a knife through the mouth, Lyra?”

A blush heats my cheeks. I raise an eyebrow at the question, shrugging as I hide behind the drink in my hand.

“I wouldn’t know.” The lie is cheap and obvious.

He laughs, deep in his chest, watching me with eyes that tell me he knows far more than I think.

“Thatcher will deny it.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “But I’ve met no one as protective as him. There is no one else I’d want in my corner, even if he is a little testy.”

This feels like an approval conversation, Alistair giving me a thumbs-up, the green light for pursuing a relationship with Thatcher. Although I don’t need it, it still feels good. Being accepted was never something I was good at.

I’m just about to thank him when Briar and Sage enter through the front door, returning from their half of this surveillance plan. Briar’s blue gown shimmers as she walks with all the glitter, waves of blonde hair cascading down her back.

When she spots us, she’s quick to wrap her arms around Alistair’s waist, resting her head against his chest while he curls his arm protectively over the small of her back.

“Is he bitching about Valentine’s Day?” she teases. “Don’t let him lie—he’s secretly a romantic.”

In a matter of seconds, Alistair turns from the brooding shadow in the corner to, well, still the brooding shadow, but with a smile at the corner of his mouth. They sorta melt into each other, the glow of her energy combining with all his darkness until they are a stunning shade of gunmetal gray.

“Find anything in Godfrey’s office, little thief?” He looks down at her while she stretches her neck to meet his gaze.

“Fuck all,” she grumbles, dropping her forehead to his chest with a thud. “He either had it cleaned out, or there was nothing to find to begin with.”

“Is it sick I was praying we found a dead body?” Sage adds, an annoyed expression on her flawless face. She’d been Briar’s lookout while she was snooping. “Literally anything other than another dead end?”

Obviously, our plan to find dirt on Conner was a waste of time. That’s all any of this seems to be—a waste of time. I’m exhausted. Running circles, trying to find proof for something that doesn’t seem to exist. It just feels like we’re digging our own graves, deeper and deeper.

“You mind?” Sage motions to my barely drunk champagne.

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