Page 17 of Crimson Bond

“Right.”

Verbally she was agreeing with me, but her body language said she was waiting for a sneak attack.

The girl was smart. I felt a reluctant sense of pride in her. She’d come a long way since her days as a naïve Amish farmgirl.

But she still couldn’t read minds. She couldn’t see the dark joy bubbling inside me at this chance to make her suffer. At the promise of sweet revenge.

Later, when the trip was over and I’d left her broken, when she’d realized all the sweet words and chivalrous behavior were nothing but a ruse, she’d hate me.

But then that was inevitable.

Eventually she’d find out thenewaim of my mission to Canada wasn’t to secure Sadie’s alliance with the Crimson court for a rebellion.

It was to kill Sadie and take her out of play so Imogen could rule over Sadie’s followers and be the sole leader of the vampire species.

It was to destroy everything Abbi believed in.

9

That Particular Vow

Abbi

For the first couple hours of our drive, I was tense.

Reece’s abrupt attitude change had jarred me, even alarmed me. And Imogen’s warning about what would happen to the people I cared about if we didn’t succeed was still fresh on my mind. But after a while, Reece’s good mood started rubbing off on me.

He sang along to the radio and told me stories about some of the funnier things he’d encountered on his Bloodbound missions. Relaxed and charming like this, he was once again the guy I’d met the night of the crimson moon.

Againstthatguy, I had no hope of resistance.

“So, I couldn’t help but notice this is a Dodge Charger Hellcat,” I said. “Black instead of red, though—very vampish of you. Did you name him?”

“This car’s ashe,” he corrected. “I call her... Abigail.”

My sharp inhale was audible, even over the music.

Reece shot me a devastating grin. “Just kidding. I haven’t actually named her. Why don’t you do the honors?”

Still blushing, I turned away from him, pretending to study the sky as I thought of something suitable. “Hmmm... what about... Blackberry?”

“Blackberry? That’s lame.”

“It is not.”

He laughed. “I’m sorry, but it is.”

“It’s not lame. It’s beautiful,” I protested. “Blackberry was the name of my favorite cow. I raised her from a calf and bottle fed her because her mom died. I named her Blackberry because, well, she was black and also because she was so sweet.”

“Oh now, see? You have to go and make me feel bad. Now I have no choice but to give my badass car a girly name.”

“You said shewasa girl.”

“Good point. But she’s a tough girl.” He caressed the dashboard. “Aren’t you, Blackberry? Just listen to that engine roar.”

His muscular tanned hand stroking the dark leather was so attractive, I actually felt a little jealous.

Great Abbi. Jealous of a car. Pathetic.

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