“She raped me,” he says so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.
I hear Lincoln shuffle further away, but not express any surprise. He knew and he didn’t tell me.
“Devon,” I say to him, taking him in my arms. “Why on Earth wouldn’t you say anything to me?”
“It is my deepest humiliation,” he moans into my hair. “I didn’t want to do it, but I…”
“Shush,” I say to him. “You don’t need to explain it.”
“I do,” he says, pulling away from me and gripping my arms. “I need to tell you so that you don’t think I wanted it.”
“I don’t think that,” I say. It is all starting to make sense now. He doesn’t even need to tell me when it happened because I know. I remember seeing him in the kitchen the day he told me about her and Lincoln. He was a sickly shade of green, abrasive and closed off, and more than anxious for me to get Lincoln away from her. It also explains that since I said ‘yes’ to him, he hasn’t tried to get me between the sheets. It’s because he can’t. He doesn’t want to, and I don’t blame him one bit. Oh, my poor boy.
“I love you, Devon. You don’t need to tell me anything more. I will kill her for this, but I need the information from her first. I have to go and see her.”
Devon just nods at me woefully, and I take him in my arms again. “Make her suffer,” he whispers in my ear. “She needs to be taken out.”
I blink back my surprise at the anger in his voice, but really, I shouldn’t be surprised. I know all too well how it feels to be made a victim. I nod at him and then leave him in the capable hands of Lincoln as I Astral out to the gardens in England and then focus on getting my furious arse to my hateful, disgusting, slutty Other.
Chapter 10
I land in her library where she and her Fraser are sat on the sofa facing the fireplace. She is flicking through a magazine while he rubs her feet. They both look up at me and I glare at her, keeping my gaze away from the man who looks just like my lost love.
“What do you want?” she sneers at me. “I thought we were done with each other.”
So did I, you whore. I can’t help the critical raking of my eyes over her bare arms, which are still free of Fae Markings. I smirk at her and cross my arms, giving her a good view of my own, having changed into jeans and vest top before coming here. If we get into a scrap–and we probably will–a long, medieval gown will just cause too much interference.
“Daddy not want you?” I ask and then bite my tongue. I need her help before I piss her off. Mind you, just my presence alone is enough to piss her off.
Her look of fury is quickly replaced with the indifferent sneer that usually adorns her features. “I will give you till the count of five to get out of here,” she says.
“I need your help,” I counter and catch her off-guard. Good, that will be useful.
“Me help you?” she cries incredulously. “You are completely off your head, bitch.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely unexpected. But I have come prepared. It takes everything that I have to slide my gaze to Fraser, who is studiously avoiding looking at me, but when he feels my eyes on him and he looks up, I give him a slow smile. His eyes widen, but it is his only reaction. Other Liv–or I guess I can just call her Liv now–on the other hand snarls viciously at me and then takes her foot and roughly turns his head away from me with her toes.
“Some nerve,” she says. “Did you not learn your lesson with this yet?”
“Did you not learn that I can kick your arse and I will do so if you don’t help me,” I reply.
“Okay,” she says, standing up and brushing off her black, leather pants. “You have me intrigued. Why would you come here after we agreed to part ways? What does the almighty ‘you’ need little ol’ me for?”
Her defensive stance automatically puts me on one, so we face off with one another, hands on hips. It must look ridiculous to an outsider: two little, blonde women ready to throw down.
“I need to know how your Tiamat died,” I say.
I almost laugh out loud at her expression. Her mouth drops open and she does a goldfish impression, and she drops her hands from her hips. She recovers quickly with shrewd eyes and asks, “Why?”
“I have my reasons,” I say, really not wanting to go into it all with her. “Just please tell me without turning this into one of our usual conversations.”
“Oh no,” she says ignoring my rather heartfelt (I thought) plea. “You want the dish; you spill the beans.”
“Very well,” I say, clearing my throat. “I want to kill Her.”
There is a stunned silence for a few moments and then Liv lets out a loud, very unladylike guffaw. I just stand there as she cracks up at me and my, I’ll admit, ludicrous statement. The minutes pass and Liv wipes the tears from her eyes, snorting with amusement until I huff out a breath.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snickers. “You’re serious?”