Yes, Ryker’s presence definitely threw a wrench into things.
She was halfway down the alley, her boots clicking on the cobblestones, when the fae’s hand landed on her arm.
Now,he touched her willingly.
Of course.
“What’s your plan?” Ryker asked gruffly.
Wasn’t it obvious?
“I’m going to do what I always do. I’ll enter the Rosewood, find Tathdel Crystalis, and kill him.”
Easy. Simple. Quick. It was her favorite way to work. In and out, without any complications.
Ryker stared at her. His mouth pinched in a line, his eyes darkened, and his grip tightened.
“You speak of death so easily.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
Did he really care?
She could have shaken him off, but instead, she considered his question.
“I… it used to,” Brynleigh admitted.
Her first kill had been a few weeks after her Making, and it had haunted her for months.
His gaze searched hers. “And now?”
What did he want her to say? That she laid awake at night, thinking about the people she killed? That was rarely true. Now, she lay awake thinking about him.
“Not anymore,” she admitted.
Crimson stained her soul.
Besides, she only killed people deserving of her brand of justice. None of them were innocent, and she was doing the world a favor by getting rid of them.
Ryker looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he just nodded. “Okay. I’ll follow your lead.”
That was the end of their conversation. What else was there to say?
There was no time to be upset about this. She lifted her chin. The time for talking was over. Exuding confidence, she sauntered down the moonlit street. Her shoulders were back, she stood tall, and her face was blank.
True to his word, Ryker remained behind her, a silent shadow.
The familiarity of this moment was comforting in a strange way. Right now, Brynleigh wasn’t a vampire who’d recently been tortured. She wasn’t a broken-hearted woman.
She was a killer with a purpose, and she was damned good at her job.
From the outside, the Rosewood looked like every other building in this part of the city: three stories, red bricks, blackened windows. The only difference from the rest of the block was the burly werewolf in a suit guarding the entrance.
He raised a brow as they approached, his orange eyes glittering in the darkness. “Card?”
Names weren’t done at The Rosewood.
It was one of the reasons Brynleigh hadn’t been too worried about coming here—even if she and Ryker were recognized as participants of the Choosing, it wouldn’t matter. If Jelisette asked why Brynleigh tookRyker to The Rosewood, she would claim she was using him as a cover. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
Everything that happened in The Rosewood remained within its four walls. It was a temple, and secrets were the god its parishioners worshipped.