Page 47 of Lovely Violent Things

“I won’t let that happen,” Halen says, tone resolute.

I tilt my head, for the first damn time at a loss for words. Little Halen, defending her devil. I think hell just froze over.

My dismal smile feels genuine. “I’m not worried for myself, sweetness.”

She tears her gaze away from mine in the window.

Regardless of who the perpetrator is or their access level, I won’t be roaming free for long. As I’ve likely been painted as the sorcerer from the allegory, I’m a threat to the Overman. But instead of the threat of turning the higher men against Zarathustra like in the parable, I’m a threat to turn Halen against the suspect. This person wants her to mistrust me so they can isolate her.

This person is also persistent. They have endless patience and years of practice trying to obtain an ancient philosophy.

And failing.

A whole ravine filled with their decaying efforts.

Then little Halen arrives, all pure grief and heightened emotions, her beautiful suffering a siren’s song to theRausch. Utterly transcendent ecstasy.

I should know—I experienced her divinity for myself.

The Overman wants her. I’m an obstacle in the way.

Too bad for them, my obsession runs so much deeper.

Agent Hernandez steers the SUV into the parking lot of the police department, making Halen glance up from her phone. “Why are we here?”

The agent expels a breath, weary of his chauffeur duty. “The press conference.”

“Shit,” Halen mutters. “I forgot about that.”

“Agent Alister said to remind younotto make a scene.” Hernandez parks the vehicle, then sends her a measured look in warning. “You don’t have to answer any questions.”

“Did he give you the same order for me?” I say.

He directs a glance to the backseat, delivering his best intimidating agent face. “He said to keep the sociopath contained.”

My smile doesn’t meet my hard eyes. “Duly noted.”

Halen pulls her hair over her shoulder and works the thick hank into a braid, securing the end with her hairband. “Let’s get this over with.”

I trail behind Halen as she weaves between news vans and police cruisers toward the building. At the entrance, I reach over her shoulder and take hold of the handle, trapping her between my body and the glass door. “You can’t avoid what happened last night forever,” I whisper near her ear.

She places her hand right over mine and pulls the door open. “Oh, but I will try.”

A derisive smile curls my lips. Avoidance is a weak tactic when our defenses fracture.

My little Halen is cracking.

The sound of muffled voices guides us toward the double doors of the conference room. Halen slips through quietly, trying to be unnoticed as she locates a place along the back wall.

Agent Alister is seated on a metal chair at the front of the room, accompanied by two of his lead agents, and Detective Riddick to represent the local department, presenting a joint effort on the case for the media.

The room is congested with too many bodies. The muggy press of body heat requires the window fans to run at full blast. The whip of blades blends with the shutter click of digital cameras.

Even from the far back, I see the sad, despondent faces peppered throughout the crowd. The red, teary eyes. The wisp of hope on trembling lips posed for the cameras. The exaggerated sniffles and whimpers staged for the soundbites.

The sight pulls at some dark thread within me, and a plume of resentment wafts up like the noxious fumes from the ravine.

What Hernandez said in the SUV circles my thoughts as I absorb the saturated stench of the conference room.

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