Page 87 of Leashed

It was a perfect trap for him.

And there was no way was he going to fall for it.

“Bo?”

The voice held the o too long.

He swung one arm slowly out in front of him, his other creeping along the cracks in the rock.

“It’s dark, Bo. Please.”

Licking his lips, he ignored the copycat and forged on in silence.

“Bo? Please answer me. I need you. You’re my soul mate.”

The pitch was growing closer to Sage’s as the Eidolon adapted to his lack of response.

Lach was weaponizing his respite from the crushing silence against him.

Clearing everything from his mind, he sped up.

*

Sage slid theliving room curtain open and watched the streams of cars on the roads below. With her phone in hand, she double-checked Nixon’s last text, ensuring she had more than enough time to make the call before he returned to his apartment.

Our apartment.

Shaking off the wrongness she felt with her forced correction, she dialed the number from her carefully concealed note and listened as it rang.

“Alex, here,” a groggy voice answered, a woman’s mumbling in the background.

She swallowed, peeking out the window again for signs of Nixon’s car. “Um, hi. I was given this number to talk to Charlotte?”

There was a rustling of fabric and hushed whispers before the guy returned, his voice strong and alert. “Who gave you this number?”

“Bo?” she replied hesitantly, second-guessing her decision for the hundredth time. “I’m sorry it’s so late, but he said she could answer a few questions…” She trailed off, unsure how candid she could be.

“What kind of questions did he tell you to ask?” Alex demanded, his harsh tone tinted with a desperation that spiked her own nerves.

She stared at the rows of lights below her. “Personal ones. Are you his twin?”

“Yeah, I’m his twin,” the guy growled. “Is this the siren?”

There was another rustling, a woman’s voice suddenly taking over the call. “Hey. It’s Charlotte. You’ll have to excuse Alex, he’s just gotten back and he’s a little te—FINE! I’ll ask! Sorry. Alex wants to know if you can tell him anything to guarantee you’re the woman he thinks you are.”

Frowning, she sat on Nixon’s leather sofa and pursed her lips. “Well, I work at a libr—”

“Bo hasn’t told us anything about you,” Alex called out, Charlotte’s admonishments muddying his words. “Give me something you don’t think he would tell a regular booty call.”

Her brows shot up. “We’re friends,” she stated, her conviction as weak as her response.

“Bo doesn’t have friends,” Alex retorted.

Charlotte returned to the phone, her grumbled chastisements intermingled with apologies.

“Sago,” she exclaimed, her words tumbling from her mouth. “I know it was sago and Herc is no hero.”

The line went silent for a moment before a muffled discussion began between the pair, punctuated with a final “Hercules did what?” from Charlotte.

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