POV Natalie
“Ow, fuck!” I hiss, yanking my hand back from where this absolutely feral werewolf just bit me like I’m some kind of chew toy.
Blood wells up from the perfect crescent of teeth marks on my palm, and I’m genuinely impressed by how much damage she managed to inflict in half a second.
“It’s me, Nightshade!”
Avery spins around, eyes wide with shock and what might be relief if I’m reading her micro-expressions correctly.
Which, given my current track record with interpersonal relationships, is debatable. “Natalie?”
“Yes, bloody goddess.” I shake out my hand, watching droplets of actual blood hit the stone floor.
Her teeth are sharper than they look, which is saying something considering they already looked pretty fucking lethal.
“Nice reflexes, by the way. Really felt the love there.”
The sarcasm rolls off my tongue like a defense mechanism, because what else am I supposed to do? Admit that having her teeth in my skin sent some seriously confusing signals to parts of my brain that should not be operational right now?
“Why are you kidnapping me?” she demands, still in full defensive mode. Her posture screams “ready to murder someone,” which is both terrifying and oddly attractive.
“I’m not kidnapping you—you’re not a kid.” I roll my eyes because honestly, the logic gap here is astronomical. “I’m adult-napping you. A completely different crime.”
“That’s not a real thing!”
“Neither is peace between vampires and werewolves, but here we are.” I gesture around the stone chamber like it’s evidence of the universe’s twisted sense of humor.
She glares at me, and I have this deeply inappropriate thought that she looks gorgeous when she’s pissed off. Like, seriously gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that makes you forget you’re supposed to be mortal enemies.
“What the hell am I doing here, Natalie? If they find us together, we’re both dead.”
And here’s where I have to drop the bomb that’s going to make this whole situation infinitely more fucked up than it already is. Which is impressive, considering we’ve already crossed into “making out with the enemy” territory.
“I’m supposed to crash the summit,” I say, going for casual and probably missing by several zip codes. My voice sounds weird in my own ears—too tight, too forced. “Drag your ass back to the Crimson Coven like some kind of supernatural trophy.”
The words hang in the air between us like a confession I didn’t mean to make. I watch her face process the information, see the exact moment when my admission hits home.
Avery stares at me for exactly three seconds. I count them, because apparently my brain has decided to focus on random details instead of dealing with the emotional clusterfuck happening in my chest.
Then she starts laughing.
Not the reaction I was expecting. Like, at all.
“That’s funny,” she says, still chuckling like I just told the world’s best joke instead of admitting to planning her betrayal. “Because I’m supposed to crash the summit and drag your ass back to Shadowmere.”
My brain does this full-stop thing where all thoughts just cease to exist. Like someone hit the emergency brake on my consciousness and everything just… stops.
“What the hell?”
“Yeah.” Her laughter dies, replaced by something that looks like dawning horror mixed with the kind of rage that starts wars. “They’re playing us like fucking chess pieces.”
The pieces click together with the sound of my entire worldview imploding. Both sides sending their “problem children” to the summit with identical missions. Both expecting us to destroy any chance of peace by betraying the other side. Both treating us like expendable assets instead of actual people with functioning brain cells and, you know, feelings.
“They see us as pawns,” I mutter, because stating the obvious is apparently all my brain can handle right now. The manipulation is so blatant it’s almost insulting. Like, did they really think we wouldn’t figure it out?
“Why do you need to bring back a wolf?” Avery asks, and there’s something in her voice that makes my chest tight. Vulnerability hiding behind the question, like she’s asking about more than just political machinations.
I open my mouth to explain about Lira’s ultimatum, about proving my worth to a coven that’s never seen me as anything more than a defective mistake, about the whole “walk into the sun” threat hanging over my head like a sword made of solar radiation—
The door explodes inward with enough force to probably crack the stone frame.
A girl bursts through like she’s being chased by the apocalypse, which, given her expression of pure terror, might be accurate. Her hair’s disheveled, there’s what looks like blood on her shirt, and she’s breathing like she just ran a marathon through hell.
“The summit’s a trap!” she screams, wild-eyed and breathless. “There’s a bloodbath outside! We need to get the hell out of here, Avery!”