“Are we prisoners?”
“It isn’t a death sentence.”
“Isn’t it?” She leveled that one-eyed gaze on me. “Lie to me again in the morning.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Mace asked half an hour later. He’d come to my room bearing food and beer because he claimed I wasn’t eating enough—although it was probably his stomach, demanding more food.
Sandwich remains still sat on the plates.
“Worried about what?” Absently, I poked through the open wooden box on my desk.
“You’re going through Noa’s private stuff.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t go through Fallon’s secret box.”
Mace picked at the sandwich, searching for something he’d missed besides bread crusts. “We said safe-keeping against looters in Azul.”
“Exactly what I’m doing.” My smile sliced. Maybe I was an alphahole for doing it, but something had crawled beneath my skin earlier and I couldn’t figure it out. For some fucked up reason, I hoped for an answer in Noa’s mother’s box.
“She’ll probably burn you when she finds out.”
“So she doesn’t find out.” After Azul fell, Mace and I had returned with several men to see what was salvageable, then determine the amount of damage and search for lingering survivors. I’d gone to Noa’s house and collected the faille journals—what Amal overlooked—and the carved wooden box I found beneath Noa’s bed. Mace had searched Fallon’s apartment and found similar hidden treasures.
Pure wolf, we earned our alphahole status by going through their personal things, betting on what we’d find—adult toys hidden in the boxes? Reasonable, since Noa’s had been beneath her bed, and Fallon’s hidden in a bedside nightstand.
No such luck.
“What secrets did you find in Fallon’s stuff?”
“She loves pink, glittery things.” Mace’s mouth twisted as he reached for the beer, guzzled down what had to be tepid by now. “What’s pissed you off about Angel?”
I flipped open the children’s book, stared at the pink hearts and closed it. Set it back in the box, careful not to disturb the crushed petals and the tiny baby shoes… finding it hard to believe Noa had ever been small enough to wear them. I rubbed at my chest, then reached for the envelope addressed to Noa’s mother, hesitating before I set it back in place.
“She’s not what she pretends to be,” I admitted.
“Already sent out feelers.”
Mace’s spy network was one of the best I’d ever encountered. I closed the lid on Noa’s box. Closed my search for answers. “Elana and the kids—they’re Anson’s problem now.”
“Speaking of Anson…” Mace rocked forward, pushed the beer closer to my hand. “Noa woke up.”
“When?”
“An hour ago.” He swigged his beer, then spoke around the bottle. “I talked to my contact before I grabbed things.”
Picking up the bottle, I asked, “Bad enough I need alcohol?”
“Noa’s fine, and we need Anson as an ally.”
“Fucking tell me, Mace.”
He did, giving a thorough report, while black claws punched through my knuckles. The claws made holding the beer a pain in the ass, but I worked through it.
“The nymphs?”
“On their way. Anson’s healer sees the wisdom in not sticking around. By morning, he’ll be making his excuses. Leave Leo in charge.”
I let the beer linger in my mouth before swallowing. “That’s all?”
