Page 219 of Inferno

Stepping forward, I stroke her cheek.

“No matter what, our little girl will be safe. Okay?”

It’s strange, having never even met her, I love her so fiercely.

She is a piece of me, and she deserves everything I can do to save her.

“I know.”

“Let’s go throw shit, ay?” I kiss her forehead.

“You think Conan and Finn want to join us? I might be able to teach them a thing or two.”

Hmm. It would be nice for my brothers to get to know her. See what I see, rather than a threat.

“I like that.”

Plus, I’d love to see her wipe the smugness off them. I have no doubt my girl has the skill.

Chapter 84

CHARLOTTE

The old cabin, set behind Conan’s, creaks as the wind cuts through the trees. Weapons line the walls: blades, axes, even a row of throwing stars. It’s a playground for killers. I’m impressed.

I can’t help myself but pick up the first knife that speaks to me. My eyes fix on the target and I throw. The blade sings through the air and buries itself deep in the center of the post with a sharp, satisfying thunk. My heart’s not pounding, it’s steady.

Here I am free again.

Declan’s behind me, close enough I can feel the weight of his stare between my shoulder blades. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s watching every twitch of muscle, every breath I take.

“Looking good, heartbreaker.”

I grab another knife from the table, heavier than the last. I like the way it settles in my palm, like it belongs there.

“I’m not here to play,” I snap, testing the balance before lifting my gaze to the target. “This isn’t for show. I need to be ready. For him. For her.”

Declan steps closer.

“You’re ready, you know you are,” he says, but there’s a catch in his voice. Like he doesn’t quite believe it. Like he’s trying to convince himself, too.

I whip the knife through the air, harder this time. It slams into the wood, right beside the first. Not perfect, but deadly enough.

“Not ready,” I hiss. “Not yet.”

His hand brushes mine, like he’s trying to ground me. I yank away. I don’t want grounding. I want fire. I want rage.

“Don’t,” I say, spinning to face him. “This isn’t a fucking therapy session.”

His jaw tics. “And what is it, then?”

“It’s war.”

He doesn’t flinch as I snatch another blade and throw it with enough force to rattle the post. This time, I don’t look away from him.

“That one was for Vlad.”

His eyes darken.

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