Page 36 of White Raven
Sarah blew her smoke away from a very curious Denver, who winced at the smell and darted off towards the bedroom. “No, he’s taking time off. He hauled ass down that way to spare me from hurting somebody like a small child…or a priest. I lost my shit in the car after we left the funeral. Now I know why he couldn’t tell me about that night at the club. I can’t bring myself to ever be mad at him again for hurting me.”
“Is that why you want the tattoo? You’re doing what he does…” Wren considered that for a moment. The way Athan’s body was covered in constant reminders of what he’d done. It was admirable, but she wondered if Sarah could handle seeing that every day for the rest of her life. “Are you sure you wanna do that?” she asked, taking the end of the stub and hitting it.
“I’m sure. That man deserves that much from me.” Sarah flipped her wrist over and stared at the raven tattoo. Wren’s eyes narrowed, then widened and she choked, yet again, on her smoke, pointing at a very large ruby she didn’t remember Saraheverhaving.
“What. The. Fuck. Is that?”
Sarah’s frown turned upside down, slowly, and with enough admiration for Wren to feel nauseous. “Yeah, about that…I’m engaged. Again.”
“Oh, dear God.” Wren’s hand waved around the smoke like she was swatting flies. “Get away. You reek of romanticshit.”
Sarah burst out laughing and leaned over the table to pop Wren’s arm, to which she couldn’t help but cackle and fall backward, finally feeling the haze of drug-induced ignorance. “Come here, bitch! Lemme rub some nasty on ya!”
“Get off!” Wren laughed as Sarah tackled her. She had to admit. She missed this. Missed her. Missednormal.
Rhaena was grateful that Brandon was picking up security detail for a very sick officer Blakely, who was supposed to be posted outside an event for an important figure tonight, whose name she’d already forgotten, at some swanky hotel on the east side of Boston by the harbor. Tired. She was dog tired…maybe…that was a poor choice of words. She rested the back of her head against the back wall of the elevator at her building and sighed heavily in exhaustion over two large paper bags full of groceries. Tonight, she was going to take a marathon shower. She was gonna drink an entire bottle of wine by herself, and dammit, she was going to sprawl over that bed and shamelessly drool on every pillow she owned. This whole, ‘jumping-into-a-serious-relationship’ thing was wonderful, but a part of her missed that small bit of privacy every now and then.
She didn’t miss that empty feeling that always found its way to roil in the pit of her stomach after her trysts with Athan in the apartment next door. This was infinitely better than that—better than anything she’d ever had in her lonely life. But one night of having no one to worry about, other than herself? That would be nice.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened, and any thought of a quiet evening of dismantling, and self-care…died ruthlessly in the sounds of breaking glass and loud music down her hall.
Oh, she’d have somebody’s ass tonight. Whoever they are.
It wasn’t until she took a few angry steps forward that she realized…the sounds of all manner of hell breaking loose were coming from Athan’s—no…Wren’sapartment. Part of her began to panic, and Rhaena reached for her gun, pausing with her hand on the holster when she heard…laughter?Sure as shit. Her eyes rolled and she dug her key out, opening her door and setting the groceries down on her kitchen table. She dialed Wren, getting no response, and was almost afraid to know who she had next door. The last thing she wanted to do was bust up some crazy intimate moment between her and Stratford. The thought made her gag. At the sound of another glass breaking, Rhaena forcefully shook her head and headed next door, banging on it and pressing a hand to her hip.
“Wren!” Rhaena pressed her ear to the door, and the hysterical laughter continued on the other side. That wasn’t a dude. Her hand wound around the knob, and when she turned, she found it unlocked.
Well…that’s safe.
The door opened, and the smell of marijuana and cigarettes hit her nose. The hazy light in the apartment swirled in a cloud of smoke. It was a wonder they hadn’t set off the fire alarms. Rhaena’s hand waved past her face, and she startled, jumping back when someone yelled “Pull!” …and an empty beer bottle flew across the living room entryway. Glass shattered and laughter ensued as she made her way past the kitchen and into the living room to find—
“Sarah?”
“Rhae!” Wren snorted, laying on her back on a couch pillow in the corner where Poe’s cage used to be. A cigarette with a long ash hung in her mouth. “Come hit one!”
“Hit one,what?” Rhaena asked, clearly not meaning one of the many broken bottles scattered around a…painting? Sarah swayed next to Wren’s easel with a cigarette of her own, in jeans and a black bra with a paper towel taped over her ribs. Blood and ink dotted the outer surface, and she held the empty roll—now bent and utterly useless—in both hands like a baseball bat. “What in God’s name are you two doing in here?” Rhaena yelled over the music.
“We’re giving Conrad a proper send off!” Sarah laughed, drunkenly. “Come take a swing!” She nodded towards Wren. “Pull!” Wren threw another bottle and Sarah tried to whack it, missing while the bottle broke against the edge of the easel tray, shattering and spraying glass against the nearly obliterated canvas.
“Conrad?” Rhaena peered, narrow-eyed at the painting, realizing then what she was looking at. “Oh, shit.” It was an effort to hide the smile that threatened to level her composure.
“Come on! Hit one! I know you can!” Wren giggled, teetering an empty bottle between her fingers.
“I’ll be right back,” she grinned, shaking her head as she stepped back out the apartment door, pulling out her phone. Athan answered, and it almost sounded like she woke him.
“If there’s another body…again…it wasn’t me.”
“It’s eight-o-clock. Do you know where yourfiancéis?”
“Oh, fuck…is she okay?”
“Oh, she’s more than okay,” Rhaena laughed. “Why don’t you come see for yourself? She’s at your old place. Might wanna bring a barf bag for the ride home.”
“Christ,”Athan snarled, hanging up the phone.
At this juncture, the first and only thing he could ever think to do when it came down to Sarah St. James…was worry first, ask questions later. And Athan’s tense muscles were at capacity with worry. He’d fallen asleep next to her while they pored over files, and reports, and waking to a phone call like that was an instant flash of a mutilated girl in a body bag that was made to look identical to his mate. Sure, she could likely handle herself now that she was no longer human, but the fact that someone they knew nothing about was targeting her now? Two someones, if they were being logical, and not a single one of them were certain about whatever John Allan’s intentions were, or what he’d do to get to her. Sarah knew what she was doing. Giving Sykes two days to show herself wasn’t enough. She left to make herself known. Left while he was sleeping, because she knew damned well he’d never let her go alone.
“Dammit, Sarah,” Athan grunted, pulling a black hoodie over his bare chest and grabbing his keys as he slammed the door and flew down the steps. He checked every angle of the building on his way to the car, seeing no one suspicious. Hiscigarette was barely finished by the time he squealed tires into the parking structure where he used to live. The last time Sarah had gone through something difficult, she acted out and got herself locked up after Rhaena was forced to give her a hard hit to the gut. The last time he had to go get her when she was plastered, she was dancing on a fucking pole while every person within arm’s reach pawed at her scantily clad body. Neither of those instances were anything short of a test of his self-control. And neither tasted very pleasant on his tongue.
