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Authors: Tammy Blackwell
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And he’d done a great job of packaging it, to make it sound like a vision she could get behind. Did she want to live in a world where she didn’t have to worry about someone finding out what she was? Ummm… Hells yes. Sign her up for that.
It was a shame Alistair wasn’t actually dreaming of a future where supernaturals could come out and live as equals with their normal human neighbors. If she hadn’t already known what he was about, referring to her kind as “nonhuman” would have blown his cover. Sometimes prejudices can be uncovered with a single word.
But instead of correcting his deeply ingrained hatred of all supernaturals, she said, “My name isn’t Elizabeth. Everyone always thinks it is, but Lizzie isn’t actually short for anything. It’s just my name.”
“Lizzie,” he said, tipping his head in acknowledgment of the correction. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“This,” she said pointing to the side of her face, which she knew was several interesting shades of purple and blue thanks to the mirror hanging in her bathroom, “isn’t cosmetic. And I’m not a doctor, but I think I either have some deep tissue damage or broken ribs going on because breathing isn’t quite the pain-free task it’s supposed to be. So, no, I don’t trust you. Quite frankly, I’m terrified of you.”
Layne stiffened beside her, and she regretted not sharing the same link Shifters and Seers did under the full moon. Life would be so much easier if she could just send him a telepathic message to let him know she wasn’t hurt quite as bad as he thought, nor did she doubt his ability to protect her. As it was, she just gritted her teeth and hoped he didn’t burst into a full-on Layne tantrum.
“Oh, Lizzie,” Alistair said, his mask melting into one of remorse. Not that she believed it for a moment. She knew what he was up to, had since he made the mistake of touching her. “I know I’ll never make up for what happened to you before you came into my care, but I promise you, I never meant for you to be hurt. I want to protect you. Look.” He passed the bag he’d brought with him to her. She unzipped it to find not only several spools of high-quality yarn, but also three pairs of some of the most well-made leather gloves she’d ever seen. “I know you said you can make your own, but I didn’t want you to have to suffer until they were done. These will do, won’t they?”
“They’re lovely,” she said, and meant it. When at home, she preferred fingerless gloves, but when she went out in public, there was nothing better at keeping her defenses up than a good pair of leather gloves. If she was actually going to have to go on missions like Pari, she would need them. “Thank you very much.”
Layne plucked one of the gloves out of her fingers and examined it as if he was considering buying a pair for himself. “While you’re passing out gifts and asking for wish lists, I have one small request,” he said. “Can we get some food that hasn’t been drugged?”
Alistair’s shoulders tensed even as his face screwed up into a look of confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the way the food your little cook lady just brought up smells like medicine. We’re not going to eat it, so can you bring us something that hasn’t taken a pit stop at the pharmacy first?”
Alistair stood. “Your food is fine,” he said, straightening his cuffs. “Midge is an excellent cook.”
“Yeah, I’m sure her meth is the best.”
“I’m afraid I have other things to do,” Alistair said, ignoring Layne. “I’ll come back to check on you as soon as I can.” He bowed as if they were in a Jane Austen novel and headed toward the door.
“We’re not eating poisoned food,” Layne said. It was a warning, or perhaps a dare.
With one last glance over his shoulder, Alistair met Layne’s eyes. “Then you will starve. ”
Chapter 7
Layne waited until
It was a shame Alistair wasn’t actually dreaming of a future where supernaturals could come out and live as equals with their normal human neighbors. If she hadn’t already known what he was about, referring to her kind as “nonhuman” would have blown his cover. Sometimes prejudices can be uncovered with a single word.
But instead of correcting his deeply ingrained hatred of all supernaturals, she said, “My name isn’t Elizabeth. Everyone always thinks it is, but Lizzie isn’t actually short for anything. It’s just my name.”
“Lizzie,” he said, tipping his head in acknowledgment of the correction. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“This,” she said pointing to the side of her face, which she knew was several interesting shades of purple and blue thanks to the mirror hanging in her bathroom, “isn’t cosmetic. And I’m not a doctor, but I think I either have some deep tissue damage or broken ribs going on because breathing isn’t quite the pain-free task it’s supposed to be. So, no, I don’t trust you. Quite frankly, I’m terrified of you.”
Layne stiffened beside her, and she regretted not sharing the same link Shifters and Seers did under the full moon. Life would be so much easier if she could just send him a telepathic message to let him know she wasn’t hurt quite as bad as he thought, nor did she doubt his ability to protect her. As it was, she just gritted her teeth and hoped he didn’t burst into a full-on Layne tantrum.
“Oh, Lizzie,” Alistair said, his mask melting into one of remorse. Not that she believed it for a moment. She knew what he was up to, had since he made the mistake of touching her. “I know I’ll never make up for what happened to you before you came into my care, but I promise you, I never meant for you to be hurt. I want to protect you. Look.” He passed the bag he’d brought with him to her. She unzipped it to find not only several spools of high-quality yarn, but also three pairs of some of the most well-made leather gloves she’d ever seen. “I know you said you can make your own, but I didn’t want you to have to suffer until they were done. These will do, won’t they?”
“They’re lovely,” she said, and meant it. When at home, she preferred fingerless gloves, but when she went out in public, there was nothing better at keeping her defenses up than a good pair of leather gloves. If she was actually going to have to go on missions like Pari, she would need them. “Thank you very much.”
Layne plucked one of the gloves out of her fingers and examined it as if he was considering buying a pair for himself. “While you’re passing out gifts and asking for wish lists, I have one small request,” he said. “Can we get some food that hasn’t been drugged?”
Alistair’s shoulders tensed even as his face screwed up into a look of confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the way the food your little cook lady just brought up smells like medicine. We’re not going to eat it, so can you bring us something that hasn’t taken a pit stop at the pharmacy first?”
Alistair stood. “Your food is fine,” he said, straightening his cuffs. “Midge is an excellent cook.”
“Yeah, I’m sure her meth is the best.”
“I’m afraid I have other things to do,” Alistair said, ignoring Layne. “I’ll come back to check on you as soon as I can.” He bowed as if they were in a Jane Austen novel and headed toward the door.
“We’re not eating poisoned food,” Layne said. It was a warning, or perhaps a dare.
With one last glance over his shoulder, Alistair met Layne’s eyes. “Then you will starve. ”
Chapter 7
Layne waited until
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