Page 111 of Burn for Her
“I’m not worth this much effort.” Dorian couldn’t be convinced otherwise. “It makes zero sense.”
“You don’t know your worth,” Malachi growled. “Remedy that immediately, Reaper.”
“Maybe a Lycan did it,” Lucian cut in. “It’s not like they haven’t fucked with us a gazillion other times to spark a new battle between House and Clan.”
“This was during their sacred ceremony,” Dorian argued. “They’d never bring impurity to their rituals. And never would they sacrifice one of their own.”
“Was it a lost Lycan?” Lucian asked.
“No.” But wolves, even the regular variety, were one of their own. “They said they smelled vampire.”
“And naturally, blamed you.” Lucian groaned. “Assholes.”
“They have a right to suspect me, given who I am.”
Malachi hissed.
“What did you smell there?” Lucian was closer to Dorian now. “Could you verify the scent? Was it truly a vampire?”
“I couldn’t smell anything except Lena by the time we found the wolf. She’s all I know, smell, taste… see.” He turned his head in Lucian’s direction and had no way of confirming if he was meeting his friend’s eyes or not.
“Shit.”
That’s all he needed to hear to know he’d missed his mark. Dorian rose to his feet. “I have to get back to her.”
“Turn her, Reaper. By the looks of things, your time is near.”
Yeah, he didn’t need the king’s reminder. He could feel the blisters forming on his back already.
Chapter 35
Lena rarely dreamed, and when she did, they were always weird. Like she was two different people, split and floating above everyone—including herself—she watched things unfold like a movie.
The Lena before her wore a pale pink gown and perfectly manicured nails. Her hair was pinned into a cascade of curls down her back. She drank from one of her mother’s antique teacups—a collector’s gem Lena was never allowed to touch from the cabinet in their outrageously large dining room.
Inside the cup wasn’t tea. It was deep, thick red liquid that coated the rim. She took a sip and tasted nothing. She never tasted anything in her dreams.
“Lena.”
She turned around and saw a blurry faced woman come towards her and knew it was her mother. “What are you doing, girl?”
“Drinking.” Lena took another sip. Swallowed.
“I didn’t raise you to be so…”
“So, what, mother?” Strong? Independent?
Violent?
“So disappointing.”
Though she couldn’t see her mother’s face, Lena knew damn well the woman was rolling her eyes and her painted red lips would be set in a thin line of disgust. Her mother always looked that way. “You must like being punished, Lena. You do everything you can to embarrass me and make me punish you.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You breathe, that’s enough.”
Lena’s sadness washed over her like a tidal wave. It arrested her heart and caused her grip to loosen on the teacup. The porcelain fell, in slow motion, to the floor and shattered. Blood splattered everywhere.