Page 152 of Without a Trace
“I’m not unclaimed,” I said, steady and clear. “And I’m not scared of you.”
Brielle smiled again—but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You should be.”
She walked closer, all lips and poison. Then pulled out the chair across from me and sat—crossing one leg over the other like we were two girlfriends catching up over cocktails.
“You’re bold,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”
“Have they told you everything yet?” she added, eyes flicking toward the boys. “Or are you still pretending this is just about feelings and secrets and sex?”
Trace tensed. Rhett shifted uncomfortably. Zeke didn’t move, but his stare dropped to the table like he was reevaluating every bad decision that brought her here.
“What else is there?” I asked.
Brielle’s smile didn’t change. “Oh, sweetheart. You think this bond is the whole story?” She glanced over at Zeke.
She leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter now—intimate, almost pitying.
“Have they told you what your blood means? What it makes you?”
I swallowed hard, not backing down. “You don’t get to come here and talk in riddles. Say it.”
“Are you sure?” she said. “Because once you know, you don’t come back from it.”
I turned to the others. “Is she lying?”
No one answered.
Brielle exhaled once, soft. “That’s the thing about memories. You think they’re gone, but they’re not. They’re buried. Locked.Burned into your bones. And I’m guessing.” Her eyes dragged over me. “You’re just starting to feel them wake up.”
Alden stepped forward. “That’s enough.”
But Brielle wasn’t finished. She looked at me again—cool and precise. “Does it bother you? That they knew all this time? That they met you, watched you, touched you… and said nothing?”
I didn’t answer.
Because it did bother me.
She tilted her head. “Are you mad at them?”
Trace’s hand brushed mine, barely a whisper. My body betrayed me, leaning toward the contact even as my mind screamed to pull away.
Brielle saw it. Of course she did.
“Because you should be,” she said. “They stole the choice from you. And now it’s too late.”
Alden
Scarlett didn’t say much—just reached for her half-full glass, drained it like water, then muttered, “I need air.”
The curve of her mouth didn’t match the words. It was too sly. Too sharp.
She didn’t wait for a reaction. Just turned and walked off into the shadows beyond the torches, her hips swaying like she knew damn well I’d follow.
I hesitated maybe three seconds.
Long enough for Kane to lift his brows and shoot me a look that screamed seriously?
Long enough for Trace to glance down the path, gripping his drink like it physically hurt not to go after her.
