felt personal in a way that made absolutely no sense.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs toward them, and seconds later Knight rushed through the door. He kicked it shut, then stalked toward Brynn with the black case in one hand.
“What the hell is this?” Knight asked. “Ketamine? Are you trying to dope him, or what?”
“Of course not,” Brynn replied, startled by his shaking rage—such a difference from the calm anger she saw in Rook—and she stammered for an explanation. “It will deactivate the drug that’s already in his system. Granted, the side effects might—”
“What drug is in his system?” Knight bristled, and the calm rush she’d felt from him only twenty minutes earlier was gone, replaced by a tingle of something she couldn’t explain. Something dark and unsettling.
“Can we argue about this after I get the antidote, please?” Rook asked.
Knight opened the case and produced a glass syringe filled with a clear liquid. “You trust her enough for me to poke you with this, little brother?”
Rook didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Brynn closed her eyes, and two hot tears left trails down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away when she opened her eyes again. “Inject it into the soft tissue at the top of the gluteus maximus,” she said softly.
Knight stared at her.
“She means the top of my ass,” Rook said.
“I know that. Someone’s eventually going to tell me what this is all about, yeah?”
“Yes.”
Rook moved to the other side of the desk, and as soon as he reached for his belt, Brynn looked away. She stared down over the auction floor, at all of the humans going about their day, oblivious to the events unfolding in the office. She watched Thomas McQueen say something to the woman on his right, to the music of Rook’s belt jangling and the whisper of cotton. The woman wrote something down, right as Rook grunted.
“Sorry,” Knight said.
Brynn thought of her father, of how angry he’d be knowing how badly she’d screwed up today. And the thought of it crushed her. She wiped away more stray tears, frustrated by their continued presence. Once she was turned over to the Alpha for poisoning his son, she would not beg for mercy. She wouldn’t cry again. She would accept her fate as a proper, stoic Magus and, even if he never knew, do her father proud in her final moments.
Her gaze swept over the tops of heads, only to be caught by someone waiting at the end of the line of runners. Bishop stared up at her, his expression difficult to discern at such a distance. She turned away from the window and was grateful to see Rook cinching his belt back up.
“You may want to sit down,” Brynn said.
“Yeah, that sounds like the perfect plan after being stuck in the ass with a needle,” Rook replied.
The fact that he could even be sarcastic with her gave Brynn a tiny flare of hope. Hope for what, though, she wasn’t certain. “The ketamine can cause disorientation and dizziness, Rook. Please.”
He sat gingerly in one of the wicker chairs.
Knight put the empty syringe back in the black case, shoved the case into his rear pocket, then turned the full force of himself onto Brynn. “Now are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
Brynn explained everything from the moment she and Rook were left alone in the office, to the conversation they had while Knight was fetching the antidote from her car. She impressed herself with her steady voice and still hands, even though her insides were shaking uncontrollably. Nothing about this was okay, and yet it felt less hopeless than even a few minutes ago. Knight was still exuding contained fury, but Rook seemed downright calm. More than anything else, Rook’s composure fed her own emotional state—and she didn’t understand why.
Knight didn’t say a word during or after her explanation of events. He turned and walked to a small door she hadn’t noticed before, opposite the office entrance, and went inside. From her angle, she
Footsteps pounded up the stairs toward them, and seconds later Knight rushed through the door. He kicked it shut, then stalked toward Brynn with the black case in one hand.
“What the hell is this?” Knight asked. “Ketamine? Are you trying to dope him, or what?”
“Of course not,” Brynn replied, startled by his shaking rage—such a difference from the calm anger she saw in Rook—and she stammered for an explanation. “It will deactivate the drug that’s already in his system. Granted, the side effects might—”
“What drug is in his system?” Knight bristled, and the calm rush she’d felt from him only twenty minutes earlier was gone, replaced by a tingle of something she couldn’t explain. Something dark and unsettling.
“Can we argue about this after I get the antidote, please?” Rook asked.
Knight opened the case and produced a glass syringe filled with a clear liquid. “You trust her enough for me to poke you with this, little brother?”
Rook didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Brynn closed her eyes, and two hot tears left trails down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away when she opened her eyes again. “Inject it into the soft tissue at the top of the gluteus maximus,” she said softly.
Knight stared at her.
“She means the top of my ass,” Rook said.
“I know that. Someone’s eventually going to tell me what this is all about, yeah?”
“Yes.”
Rook moved to the other side of the desk, and as soon as he reached for his belt, Brynn looked away. She stared down over the auction floor, at all of the humans going about their day, oblivious to the events unfolding in the office. She watched Thomas McQueen say something to the woman on his right, to the music of Rook’s belt jangling and the whisper of cotton. The woman wrote something down, right as Rook grunted.
“Sorry,” Knight said.
Brynn thought of her father, of how angry he’d be knowing how badly she’d screwed up today. And the thought of it crushed her. She wiped away more stray tears, frustrated by their continued presence. Once she was turned over to the Alpha for poisoning his son, she would not beg for mercy. She wouldn’t cry again. She would accept her fate as a proper, stoic Magus and, even if he never knew, do her father proud in her final moments.
Her gaze swept over the tops of heads, only to be caught by someone waiting at the end of the line of runners. Bishop stared up at her, his expression difficult to discern at such a distance. She turned away from the window and was grateful to see Rook cinching his belt back up.
“You may want to sit down,” Brynn said.
“Yeah, that sounds like the perfect plan after being stuck in the ass with a needle,” Rook replied.
The fact that he could even be sarcastic with her gave Brynn a tiny flare of hope. Hope for what, though, she wasn’t certain. “The ketamine can cause disorientation and dizziness, Rook. Please.”
He sat gingerly in one of the wicker chairs.
Knight put the empty syringe back in the black case, shoved the case into his rear pocket, then turned the full force of himself onto Brynn. “Now are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
Brynn explained everything from the moment she and Rook were left alone in the office, to the conversation they had while Knight was fetching the antidote from her car. She impressed herself with her steady voice and still hands, even though her insides were shaking uncontrollably. Nothing about this was okay, and yet it felt less hopeless than even a few minutes ago. Knight was still exuding contained fury, but Rook seemed downright calm. More than anything else, Rook’s composure fed her own emotional state—and she didn’t understand why.
Knight didn’t say a word during or after her explanation of events. He turned and walked to a small door she hadn’t noticed before, opposite the office entrance, and went inside. From her angle, she
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