Aidan has been warned about the dangers of being with a human. His people live on the edges of society, in the shadows and alleys. And one day, if he's willing to submit to the birthright ceremony, he'll lead the next generation to continued wealth...
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There are two things I know for sure when I leave Emmerson with her gnat of a date. The first is that my loss of power has to be accelerating. I don't know why or how, but the fact that Emmerson wasn't hypnotized by my proximity, that she's not even a little bit afraid of me, that she might actually remember that conversation when I wasn't particularly careful about what I said, is a problem.
Part of me might have wanted some of this to happen—for her to see me, for me to be able to truly know her, for us to have a chance to be together, however brief. Faced with the reality, I'm starting to see the folly in that wish.
There's still the whole wolf-human problem, even if I'm becoming less of one and more of the other faster than anticipated. Which also means I might not be able to protect her from any of the fallout from my obsession.
If I were to make a pros and cons list, in the pro column would be: Aidan might get to fuck Emmerson someday. The cons list would be about three pages, single spaced. Seems unlikely that things would work out well. Realistically, I never expected my obsession to work out at all.
Now I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do about her, but I'm aware of what my next step has to be.
That second thing I know for sure? My family can't understand just how low I've sunk in terms of what I can control and how much juice I've got left in me. Emmerson would be a sitting duck, and they'd bring Clara in as a distraction. Doesn't matter what Clara or I want. None of us can deny the blood, even if I found a way to do it for a while.
At Trident's heavy wooden door, I hesitate, but I can't think of any other way. So I pound on the wood, and I hope he hears me over whatever woo-woo he's got going on in there.
The door opens, and Trident is smoking something. I sniff the air, but it's odorless. Doubt it's powerless. He's tall and thin with shaggy dark hair, and everything about him seems to be in disarray from his clothes to the glimpse of his little house I get around his shoulder.
"Whatever it is," Trident says, "the answer is no."
"You don't even know," I say.
"I could. Rumor is, you're an open book lately. What's in Aidan's head? Shall I take a peek?" He taps my temple, and I swat his hand away.
"Which is why I'm here."
"That's a definite no."
He hasn't invited me in, which isn't a good sign. We're buddies, or as much of buddies as a witch and a werewolf set to inherit a clan can be. He's still a witch; I'm still a wolf.
"Last time," Trident says, "my role was fun. Fucking everything up so epically amused me. Suppressing your blood so you'd let Clara leave the estate, break the engagement—that was supposed to be temporary. But..." He drags out the last word. "If you're not going to assume your place, you're no good to me. Why the fuck should I do you another favour?"
