“Obviously,” I say, cracking a little smile. “Otherwise, you’d be arrested.”
“Why, Mercy Soules,” he says, making an old-fashioned Southern lady voice. “That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
We both laugh, and then I’m a little more relaxed. That lasts about ten minutes, until some guys from the hockey team find us, tell me they’re kidnapping Manson, and drag him away before I can protest. He’s not objecting, and I don’t want him to have to babysit me all night, so I let him go. Besides, I need to find a Sinner. Trouble is, I haven’t seen a single one since we arrived.
I make my way out back, where a live band is playing on the lawn under trees wound with fairy lights that blink like fireflies. A small crowd is gathered in front of the stage, dancing on the raised dance floor that looks like it’s made of sleek black ice. I wedge myself into a corner of the porch and search the crowd.
“I thought you didn’t like parties.”
I turn and find myself face to face with Nate Swift. “Oh, hey,” I say, letting out a startled laugh. “I haven’t changed my mind about parties yet. I’m here, though.”
“Here, but not enjoying yourself,” he muses. “That sounds familiar.”
“Well, I admit, this is the first one I’ve been to, so I’m not sure I’m the best judge.”
“You’ve never been to a party?” he asks incredulously, brows rising.
“Not everyone can be an international man of mystery who’s welcome anywhere,” I point out.
“So far, I haven’t gone abroad with operations, so technically, I’d be a national man of mystery.”
“Point still stands.”
“I guess so,” he says. “How’s your security holding up? No more cameras?”
“Not so far,” I tell him. “Though they did seem to know exactly where I was when I left campus.”
“Is that so?” he asks, sipping his drink, something blood-red but translucent.
“Nate?” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Mercy.”
“What did you do?”
He blinks at me with those big doe eyes, the picture of innocence. “Discretion is my profession.”
“I’m going to kill them.”
“You’re too pretty to be a killer,” says a voice beside me. “But then, a hot girl assassin could be just what the world needs.”
I look up to see the man who entered the house the day I met Nate. He towers over us, tall and handsome, his dark, wavy hair combed into place with a few strands having escaped already, like they couldn’t be contained. Instead of looking slightly unkempt, like Nate’s loose ends, they give him a rakish, untamed air that’s more dangerously sexy than adorably endearing.
When I don’t answer, he throws an arm over Nate’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me you had such beautiful friends, squirt?” he asks, his galaxy eyes never leaving mine.
“Who said she’s a friend?” Nate asks.
“Well, I know she’s not a girlfriend,” the man answers.
Poor Nate looks humiliated, which finally breaks me out of my anxious silence.
“I’m also not an assassin,” I say. “Though I was talking about murdering my boyfriends. I think there’s a different name for that.”
“Boyfriends?” he asks, quirking a brow. “I guess I could buy it, from a girl who looks like you. Can’t buy the fact that none of them are with you, if they exist.”
He sips his drink, a smile playing over his lips while he watches me squirm.
“They exist,” I grit out. I consider telling him it’s the Hellhounds, but I don’t want to encourage him by making him think I’m easy and that I’m sleeping with twelve guys already.
