Page 41 of For Dear Life

“Watch your mouth, little girl.”

With a last disdainful look, I turn to the reanimated shifter behind and study his eyes closely. They’re the typical shifter amber that Leif has too, with no sign of vacancy in them. Well, no more than usual for these guys. “Are you Ursa?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you a friend of Rory’s?”

“Yeah.”

“And a friend of Viggo’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you able to use words with more than one syllable?” I mean, I know constructs don’t have much of a mind of their own, but honestly...

But honestly? This is not good.

14

VIOLET

I’ve never met a necromancer’s construct. Not a human one, anyway, and the shifter genuinely doesn’t know. If he did, he’d never take part in his ordinary life, and these guys would sense his behavior change. They’re shifters—despite these particular individuals’ bone-headed personalities, the race is keenly tuned to each other physically. Do constructs not smell different?

I need his name. Somebody needs to know what’s happened. Dorian. Apart from anything else, and considering Rory’s fate, the shifter’s second life will be in danger. I’ve a small sense of relief that the scowling guy hasn’t recollected our last encounter.

“Who inflicted your injuries?” I ask. “Recent ones since they haven’t healed yet. I do hope you didn’t attack humans.”

He narrows his eyes as he looks behind me, every muscle in his overly large body tensing. Scars from freshly healed scratches show at the edge of his T-shirt collar, touching his neck.

How close did I come to seriously injuring or killing him?

“Violet. Come on.” Leif. Now by my side.

“He can’t remember who hurt him,” says Park Shifter and has the audacity to jab me in the chest. “Just like he can’t remember the night Rory died when some murderous asshole killed him. Is she the one you saw hanging around, Oz? Recognize the bitch now you see her? Was the other witch around?”

Oz peers at me. “Something’s familiar about her, yeah.”

“I’m well known in this locality.”

“Violet,” repeats Leif and uses handholding as a distraction.

Park Shifter sneers at his action. “Aww. Sweet. What does the witch think? He gonna kill this shifter for touching you?”

I pull my hand away, unable to drop my focus on Oz, desperately pushing into his mind and getting nowhere, because there’s nothing but a void swallowing my magic.

“Nah. She’s screwing one of each,” says the third guy. “Shifter, witch, vamp. Probably all at once.”

“I’m not a shifter,” says Leif coolly.

“And neither are we intimate,” I add.

Oz knocks into me again, a deliberately hard nudge from his shoulder which doesn’t move me at all. His mouth opens and I wait for whatever not-smart comment comes next. Instead, he staggers forward, and I take a step back before he can collide me. The shifter makes a gargled sound and drops to his knees, grasping the machine’s chair to steady himself.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” asks Park Shifter. “You said everything’s okay now.”

Both Oz’s hands cover his head, and he responds with an inhuman, high-pitched whining.

Everything? Every what?

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