Page 43 of Pretty Little Assassin

The statement sits there, on the already crowded couch, with me, her, and Mr. Pickles.

“I don’t care if he’s the Primacy’s new Director or not. I’m saving those omegas, and then, if I get one clean shot at it, I’m going to end this nightmare once and for all. He should have been at the top of my hit list all along, instead of being behind bars that apparently couldn’t hold him.”

“Do you think I am going to talk you out of it?”

She does not answer.

“I have no loyalty to the Director. I have loyalty to myself.” I set the SOG knife down. “That may be the whole difference between the Primacy and VEIL. I have never had a code.”

“So, I’ve heard.” Her voice has a lilt at the end. As if she’s teasing me. “I’m starting to wonder which of those grandiose rumours about you are wrong.”

“Perhaps none of them.” I shift on the couch because all my furniture feels too small. “Pick one you think is false.”

“Hmm,” her finger taps against the side of her temple. “You’re definitely unhinged. That part is true.”

“It is.”

“I’m not judging. I’m answering your question. You leave vodka bottles at kill scenes like a calling card.”

I shrug.

“You’re pointing out all rumours that are true about me. Tell me the one that you think is not.”

Valentina looks at me. It is a look that must be worth money on her usual contracts.

Soft eyes. Lowered lids. For one second, she looks straight through me.

Lesser alphas go to their knees for that face and never see the blade.

I, however, am still managing to keep my senses together. Even though my nostrils can’t seem to clear her scent.

“You said that you don’t have a moral code,” she says finally. “Rumours agree with that. Everyone says you’re the Wraith, an indiscriminate killer who sheds blood as easily and often as he breathes.”

“And you think that’s not an accurate description of me?” Now I am curious.

“I think the bloodshed part is true, maybe even the justification for your ominous nickname, but I’d debate the lack of a moral code now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, I’d classify you more as being a bit morally gray.”

I look at the sofa. At me, Mr. Pickles, and a sexy omega tearing into my soul with her astute observations.

“What changed your mind?”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” she says. “Not that I’d let you. Instead, you’re trying to help me take down my stepfather and save those omegas. That doesn’t exactly seem like something a morally vacant monster would do.”

I spread out some more on my couch. Mr. Pickles jumps down onto the floor. He’d had enough of our bullshit for one night and headed into the bedroom, where he'd made himself comfortable in Zero’s new cat cardigan.

“Just because I haven’t killed you doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly grown a conscience. As I said before, we’re working against the same adversary now.”

“True,” she says, getting up from the sofa. “But do you always bring your mutual alliances and their cats back to your safehouses? And sleep on the couch for them?”

Fuck.

She has a point.

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