Page 114 of Female Fantasy
A bluff.
I know that the notebook is nestled somewhere inside my bag.
He’s sacrificing himself to protect me, just as Ryke would.
“Aw, how sweet,” Clarisse coos. “Looks like these two lovebirds finally figured their shit out. Fly, little birds. Fly!”
“That don’t make any sense, Rissy,” Thomas chuckles. Then, to Nico, “Too little too late, kid. Lester Senior wantsa return on his investment—with interest. And you’re going to give it to me, even if I have to break every bone in her body.”
The sound Nico makes at his threat isn’t human, somewhere between a growl and grunt.
His chest puffs up. He bares his teeth.
I watch as he transforms into something more animal than man.
Practically primal, lethal.
And when he opens his mouth, his voice is a low, forbidding warning.
“If you lay a hand on her,” he says, “you will lose that hand.”
I hold my breath.
If he says,Touch her and die, I will lose my goddamn mind.
“Touch her and die. Simple as that.”
Holy fucking shit.
“How romantic,” Clarisse whispers to Thomas.
He glares in response. “An empty threat. Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”
I stare at M.C., who’s watching the scene with interest.
I try to communicate my desperation to him with my eyes.
“Take the ledger and go,” I plead with him. “Nico doesn’t have your money. We have nothing left to give you.”
He shakes his head, the corner of his lips curling into a half smile.
We know too much. I mean, we’veseentoo much.
Do not use your mind or your eyes to guide you. Follow the moonlight of your heart.
It all clicks into place—the prophecy the fortune-teller gave me on the train. Of course. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?
Three men emerge from a shallow pool of damnation.
My journey to find true love.
One made of tree sap and ink.
Ryke. The hero of my favorite series.
The second, hallucinations and the fog of the mystic.
Ryan Mare. The perfect man, but only in theory.
