Page 35 of Lana Pecherczyk
She stopped abruptly and cleared her throat.
“You did all that?” Blake was impressed. “For a wanker?”
“He’s not that bad.” Trix laughed.
“Are we talking about the same person?”
“Trust me. River’s one of the good guys.” Trix’s humor faded. Her gaze turned inward, and she frowned. “I probably shouldn’ttell you this, but he was hurt recently by someone very close to him.”
“The lightning?”
She nodded. “He’s had every chance to walk away from this fight with Nero, but he’s still here.”
A small smile returned to her lips, and she touched the basket. Then she blurted out a story about a battle involving someone’s kidnapped daughter, who inadvertently raised a zombie army, or perhaps under duress. River found the kid first and healed her. But then Nero attacked again, and someone died. There was more to her rambling zig-zag story, but she stopped after mentioning an exploding airship. “Anyway,” Trix said. “I was part of the problem with Nero.” Her gaze turned downcast. “I used to tinker for him. Created a few inventions I’m not proud of now that I know the truth about this world. The point is, River has saved more lives than we can count. He deserves happiness. I’m so glad he found you. Upgrading his weapon is the least I can offer in gratitude.”
Blake wasn’t sure what to make of Trix’s confession. She knew as well as anyone that first appearances weren’t always accurate. Not even the second and third, or all of them. Blake had never truly known Jeff. Or maybe she did, and it was herself she didn’t know.
She turned their conversation back to the weapon. “You did that all in just a few days?”
Trix blushed. “I would have been faster if I were a Guardian. It’s still a prototype. Aeron helped me, but I need River to test it.”
The weapon wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Avengers movie. Blake couldn’t resist and reached for it.
“Don’t touch the?—”
Pain slammed into Blake the moment her fingers connected with steel. All feeling drained from Blake’s body, leaving agony and emptiness in its wake.
“—metal,” Trix finished.
Color dulled. Ada had thought Blake was depressed, but this was the true meaning of the word. She wanted to cry out but couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Paralyzed by darkness.
Chapter
Eleven
Trix sighed and pried Blake’s seized fingers from the weapon with the gentle care of someone handling a live wire. The instant Blake disconnected, sensations flooded back—color, feeling, hope, anger—life itself rushed into her emptied soul.
River burst through the curtain, alarm widening his eyes. Ada followed swiftly on his heels.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled at Trix, invading her space with dominating intent.
“Your mate’s alright,” Trix cooed, not backing down an inch. “She just experienced her first disconnection from the Well.”
“Bloody hell.” Blake gulped air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. “That’s what happened?”
River snatched up his weapon and grumbled, “Serves you right for touching things you shouldn’t.”
Blake had spent her life placating men who pushed their sour moods onto her. Jeff had been sneakier about it, masking his contempt behind smiles while critiquing her body, choices, and existence. She’d brushed it off, made excuses, swallowed the hurt when he’d say things like, “You can’t wear that dress with your old lady boobs.”
Never again.
She launched to her feet and squared off with River.
“Listen here, mate.” She jabbed a finger into his pectoral, her pitch rising with each word. “You’d better back the fuck up with that attitude. Your bad mood belongs to you and no one else.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“This woman”— Blake thrust a finger toward Trix—“was doing something nice for you.” She pointed at Ada. “That woman was doing something nice for you.” She jabbed her chest. “This fucking woman was doing something nice for you.” Her finger returned to his sternum, punctuating each word with a poke. “And all you give in return is being a dick dick dick.”
