Page 74 of The Donor’s Dilemma

Her lips scrunched, fighting a smile as pink spread across her cheeks. Warm eyes found his, far softer than they’d been moments ago. “You told him about that?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ve told him…” she trailed off, brows suggestively high.

Fighting a smile of his own, Theo held out a hand. “Come here,” he said, and was filled with no small amount of relief when she stood and willingly curled into his arms.

Something else bothered her, something she held back, but she could keep her secrets, Phoenar knew he had enough of his own. As long as he was there, by her side as she faced whatever haunted her, Theo could accept that.

“Two weeks,” he murmured into her hair. “We just have to manage two weeks. And then…” Theo held her tight as whatever seed of fear and doubt Abe had planted quickened her pulse again.

“Two weeks and we’re free,” Verity whispered.

It wasn’t until Theo climbed into bed, his hand reaching for the place that Verity might one day sleep, that he wondered: when had he told her Jesse’s name.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kane had been making friends. Lots of friends.

Rounding the corner of the Vital Exchange building, Verity heard the protesters before she saw them. Shouts and heckles, chanted slurs and stamping feet. Stood at the front, megaphone in hand, was Kane. She’d recognise that face anywhere. Ever since her first meeting, he’d been there, lurking outside and yelling at anyone who dared walk past. His lanky friend was in the thick of the crowd, handing out signs and pointing. Pointing at her.

They’d been busy.

“Blood traitor!”

“Have some dignity!”

“Humans aren’t cattle!”

With head held high and face carefully passive, Verity picked up her pace, ignoring her quickening pulse as she approached the marble steps and made for the door. They could say what they wanted, she wasn’t about to be shamed for donating. The crowd roused, placards waving as she bunched her dress in her hands, careful not to trip.

“You’re as bad as them!”

“Vamp whore!”

“Have you seen my daughter?”

Just shy of safety, her steps faltered. Turning, Verity’s eyes landed on a man, red hair flecked with silver, and a face contorted, not in anger like the others, but worry. Fear. And in his hands a placard with a photo.

Georgie.

The insults and hollering melted away as she stared at Georgie’s smiling face, gleaming with pride beneath her cap and gown. The crimson and gold braid draped around her shoulder marked her as head of her class, an honour Verity could only have dreamed of when she graduated.

The man, her father, stepped forward. Verity couldn’t hear him over the chanting, but she knew what he asked. “Where is she?”

She didn’t know. Had Georgie told her dad she was going away with her client? Did he know what she had been doing? Had he seen the bite marks?

Verity’s feet moved before she realised, blindly stepping towards the man, when a figure rushed for her, wrapping her in his arms… and a coat.

Crack.

“Are you nuts?” Adam hissed, pushing her up the stairs, putting himself between her and the protesters.

Crack.

“Fucking slag!”

“What was that?” Verity asked, as he dragged her over the threshold.