C. Redwine - Deception

Logan nods and points to the right. “Our cache of weaponry is four doors down. We’ll canvas this floor, get some help, and return for you in just a few minutes. Be ready.”

Quinn leaves to find a weapon for me, and I bite my lip as agony radiates along my arm while I try to button my pants. The pain still feels sharp and real, but I try not to let it comfort me.

My teeth scrape against a swollen nub on the inside of my mouth, and I remember Ian crushing my lips against my teeth as he said, “Shh.”

I’ll show him what happens to someone who shushes me.

By the time Quinn returns, I’ve managed to untangle most of my hair and am hunting for my boots. My hair smells like lemongrass, and so does my skin. Clearly, somebody washed me while I was unconscious. I sincerely hope that somebody wasn’t Logan.

My body flushes with heat at the thought, and I shake it away. I have a killer to destroy. I can think about romance later.

My head feels heavy and off-kilter, and every breath I take burns against my lungs as if the smoke I inhaled still lives deep inside me.

“Which one do you want?” Quinn asks.

I look up as he tosses a silvery metal vest, as thin as a layer of silk, onto the cot beside me and holds out his hands. On the left, a small dagger with a double-edged blade barely fills his entire hand. On the right he holds the knife I’ve carried since the day we discovered the cache of weapons in the Commander’s compound.

I stare at the blades and my mouth goes dry.

Guilty .

Melkin’s tormented gaze mocks me as his blood pours over my hands. I start shoving it away, but stop before I can seal up the cracks in the silence that still crouches inside of me. I don’t want to go back to feeling disconnected from myself. I’m a long way from better, but to refuse to face this now would be to unravel the tiny bit of healing I’ve managed to find.

“I thought the dagger would be better since you’ll be using your left hand, and it’s your weaker—what’s wrong?”

I shake my head and draw in a deep breath. I’ve carried a knife for the duration of this journey, and it hasn’t made me sick with fear. I see no reason to feel this way now, but still I stare at the dull gleam of the blade and tremble.

Quinn’s hands slowly close over the weapons, and he lowers them. “You don’t have to choose one.”

“Yes, I do.” I do. Because I’m not going to confront that monster without a way to bring him down.

But if I kill him, if his blood covers my hands, will it break me like killing Melkin broke me?

“You have other choices, Rachel.”

“Like what? Like facing down a professional killer with nothing but my bare left hand?”

“Yes, if you’d rather. You could trust your survival instincts and trust in our ability to take Ian down as a group. It’s up to you.”

My fingers trace the outline of the bandage on my right arm as Melkin’s face floats to the surface of my mind again. I press lightly and the instant bite of pain distracts me from his accusing eyes.

“It’s not about trusting myself or anyone else to get me out alive. I’m not afraid to die,” I say.

Quinn tosses the blades onto the cot and gently pulls my fingers away from my wound. “What are you afraid of, then?”

“He needs to die. Someone like this—someone who could do the things he’s done and take pleasure in them—needs to die. If I’m close enough to him to deliver justice, then I need to be able to do it.”

“Do you think you’ll hesitate?”

“No. I know I won’t.” I glance at my hands as if I can still see the crimson evidence of my guilt slowly drying on my skin. “But maybe I should. After the Commander killed Oliver and then imprisoned Logan, I was driven by a need to seek justice. But after finding my father’s grave, I wanted nothing more than revenge. Melkin got in my way.”

I look at Quinn. “He got in my way. He didn’t know how broken I was. He didn’t realize what the Commander had done to me, and I didn’t hesitate. I killed him.”

Something dark and painful seeps out of the silence, but I can’t succumb to it. Not when we have a killer to catch. I also can’t bear to shove it away from me, because it’s mine.

It’s mine, and it’s time to stop acting like it isn’t.

“You don’t carry a weapon anymore,” I say. “Why not?”

He considers me before he answers. “Because I was raised to be a weapon. Not carrying one reminds me every minute of every day that I broke from that path, and that I’m never going back. But”—he holds up a finger as if he can already see the thoughts inside my head—“I told you once that I’d found answers, but that I didn’t think they’d work for anyone else.”

“Why isn’t refusing to carry a weapon my answer, too?”

“Because you weren’t raised to be a weapon, Rachel. You were raised to be a warrior. There’s a difference. If you lay down your weapons, you’d be doing it out of fear, rather than out of knowledge.” He smiles, and it warms his entire face. “You aren’t a coward. Far from it. And the people most qualified to carry weapons are those who understand the consequences of using them.”

“And if I can’t stand to have more blood on my hands?”

“Maybe you need to take some time to really consider exactly how much blood is truly yours, and how much of that guilt belongs to others.”

“Ready?” Logan asks as he walks through the doorway.

“Ready.” I reach down and palm my knife without allowing myself to think about Melkin. Later, when I’m not about to face a killer, I’ll think about Quinn’s words. Right now I’m going to try my best to be the warrior they all think I am.

“Dragonskin?” Logan asks, pointing at the thin silvery vest lying on the cot behind me.

“There were several vests in the weapons room. I’m guessing a few of the guards no longer feel the need to wear them since we’re inside Lankenshire?” Quinn reaches for the Dragonskin.

“The guards wore the vests to protect against a Carrington attack,” Logan says. “We all realize they don’t protect us against Ian, because he knows we’re wearing them.”

“Except we aren’t,” Adam says. “We stopped once we got inside Lankenshire because metal next to your skin isn’t very comfortable. Ian wouldn’t expect us to have Dragonskin on again.”

“Vests for everyone, then,” Logan says.

“Including you,” I say to Quinn. He smiles and goes to join Willow and Frankie in the hall outside the room.

“Okay”—Logan looks at me—“let’s get this on you.”

My eyes dart between Logan and Adam, and my face feels like it’s on fire. “Um. I’ve got it.”

Logan frowns. “Dragonskin is light for something made out of metal, but it’s still difficult to put on. Especially if you can’t use your right arm. We’ll help you.”

The fire spreads down my neck and heads toward my toes. “Logan, I’m not wearing an undertunic. If you think I’m going to strip down to nothing in front of the two of you—”

“No,” Logan says, just as Adam turns on his heel and says, “I’ll go get a vest of my own.”

“I sure know how to clear a room,” I say, but my breath is shaky because Logan is so close to me. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton of his tunic. I look up to find his eyes watching me with an intensity that threatens to turn my bones to water.

“Yes, you do,” he says softly, and reaches out to trail his finger over my cheek and down my neck until he reaches the hem of my tunic. “Turn around. I’ll help you. I won’t look at anything you aren’t ready for me to see. I promise.”

I turn to face the cot, and he rummages in a box against the wall until he finds a sleek undertunic in a shimmery white fabric that looks fancy enough to use for the first night after a Claiming ceremony.