*
Desandra wept.
Kill me, somebody. I never knew what to do or what to say. I got a soft towel from the bathroom and brought it to her. Desandra’s shoulders shook. She sobbed quietly. At the entrance Derek was doing his best to fade into the woodwork.
I sat next to her on the bed. She cried in a thin, heart-wrenching voice, her sobs leaking complete despair, as if her world were ending. Her father was an abusive asshole who used her as a bargaining chip. The two men she had married didn’t love her or her children. Right now only we truly cared about her welfare, and we did so because we would be paid with panacea at the end. I wished I could say something or do something to make her feel better.
Gradually the sobs slowed down. She pulled away from me and pressed the towel to her face.
“I feel so alone,” she said quietly. “I just want one of them to care. But they don’t.”
“They probably don’t,” I told her.
Her makeup had run and dark streaks of smudged eyeliner stained her cheeks. She wiped her face with the towel. “And I won’t have a choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the babies are born, what will happen? Are they going to force me to go with whoever’s son is born first? Are they going to take my children from me and throw me back to my father, so he can tell me every day how I cost him the pass and what a worthless waste I am?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
She looked at me and whispered, “I’m afraid to love my own babies, because I won’t get to keep them.”
Oh God.
Thinking of being paid for all this misery churned my stomach. If it had been up to me, I would have said screw it. I’d take her out of here, away from all of them, whether I got my fee or not. But it wasn’t about me. It was about Maddie lying twisted in a glass coffin while her family prayed we would make it back safe. It was about Andrea’s future babies. And about mine.
“Someone’s coming,” Derek said.
I rose from the bed and moved to the door. Raphael and Andrea rounded the corner.
“What are you doing here?”
“We heard crying,” Raphael said.
“Fuck me,” Desandra said from the bed. “Can’t a woman cry in peace?”
“Not with these acoustics.” Andrea came into the room and showed us a plate of fruit. “I got snacks.”
Derek looked at the platter with that particular longing, the way a starving dog eyes a juicy steak.
“Are you staying for a bit?” I asked Andrea.
“You bet.”
I glanced at Derek. “Why don’t you go and grab a bite to eat? We don’t know when Curran will be back.”
“Come on,” Raphael told him. “I’ll walk with you.”
Raphael winked at me, and he and Derek took off.
Half an hour later Desandra had finished eating and was passed out, snoring up a storm. We sat on the floor on the rug, the mostly empty platter of fruit between us. I stole another apricot. I was still hungry.
“You should go to dinner,” Andrea said. “I’ll watch Ms. Preggers.”
“It’s still my shift. You had your turn already.”
“Yes, but Princess Wilson isn’t out there making googly eyes at Raphael.” Andrea bared her teeth.
“Is Lorelei at dinner?”
“Yes. Yes, she is. She’s wearing a see-through dress and she is practically melting when Curran looks at her.”
There were times in my life when supreme mental powers would come in handy. Right now I wished I could telepathically reach into the dining hall and slap Lorelei out of her chair.
“I have a job to do.” I leaned back against the bed and closed my eyes for a moment.
“You okay?” Andrea asked me.
No. No, I wasn’t okay. People were dying. A pregnant woman was in danger. A young pretty shapeshifter girl with heavy political clout was going after Curran and there wasn’t anything I could do about any of it.
“Did you know Hugh has a man in a cage in the inner yard? He’s been in there for weeks. He’s slowly starving to death. And I can’t do anything to get him out.”
“The worst change of subject ever,” Andrea said. “I thought we were talking about Lorelei?”
“I don’t like her,” Desandra said from the bed.
Damn it. “I thought you were asleep.”
“You never talk about anything interesting when I’m awake.”
“That’s because we don’t trust you,” Andrea said.
“I know that. But I’ve got gossip on Lorelei and you don’t.” Desandra scooted up, propping herself up on the pillows. “Like who invited her to the stupid meeting.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who?”
“She invited herself,” Desandra said. “She wrote a letter to Lord Megobari and told him that she and Curran were childhood friends, and that she knew many people from Atlanta. This was her only chance to see him and could she please visit. She wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Hugh must’ve just loved that. The smug bastard probably laughed when he read that letter. How did Lorelei even find out about this entire affair?
“Who knew about Curran coming over to arbitrate?” I asked.
Desandra shrugged. “I didn’t know until two weeks before Lorelei showed up.”
“So she had insider information,” Andrea said. “I wonder where she got it.”
“That I don’t know.” Desandra grimaced. “I can tell you that when she got off the ship, she was really friendly. Really. She had the whole sweet and innocent act going.” Desandra fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh poor me, I am a sweet and honeyed flower, too delicate and . . . What’s the word when you are like, Oh, I am so honest and I just want to help?”
“Earnest?” Andrea suggested.
“Yes, that. But I did the same thing at her age. I could tell she was a snake. Once she realized I wasn’t about to be her best friend, this whole big holier-than-thou thing came out. I had a fight with my father and she told me that I was inappropriate. Then one time . . . okay, so pregnant women get gas. Your stomach is the size of a backpack, and when you do get gas, it hurts to breathe. So I farted. I couldn’t help it. She called me vulgar. I told her to mind her own business, and she said that I was shameful and no self-respecting person would associate with someone like me. I was an embarrassment to my father and my husband. I had no honor.” Desandra grimaced. “She must’ve grown up in a fish tank or something. She has all these weird ideas about how people are supposed to interact. Like she is some kind of nobility and we’re all just peasants.”
Interesting. “What did you do?” I asked.
“I’d checked up on her. Her dad is some big alpha in the U.S., but her mom couldn’t stand him so she took Lorelei and moved back to Belgium. There is only one major shapeshifter pack in Belgium, and Lorelei’s grandparents are running it. They didn’t really want her mother or her back, so they let them come back on one condition: neither of them can have anything to do with the running of the pack. There is some family money and they are not hurting, but neither of them can ever be an alpha. They didn’t want them to compete with their son. So when Lorelei told me I was an embarrassment, I told her I was daughter of an alpha and wife to two future alphas, and that three packs were crossing the sea because of me. I asked her how fast did she think they would throw her into the sea if I asked them to do it.”
“Ha!” Andrea grinned.
I wouldn’t mind throwing Lorelei into the sea, but right now the need to punch Curran was much stronger. “What did she say?”
“She got all shocked, worked up some tears, told me I was a horrible person, and ran away. We were eating at the time, and nobody followed her, which probably spoiled her plan.” Desandra leaned forward and winced. “Ow. I keep forgetting not to do that. Anyway, I grew up in a pack that was a minefield. I like that word, by the way. Very nice. I’ve seen her type before. Lorelei is intelligent, meaning she has some brains, but she’s also young and inexperienced. She doesn’t understand what makes people tick and she thinks that everyone is much stupider than her. She’s a classic sociopath: she’s charming and manipulative, she believes she’s entitled, she never genuinely feels guilt, and when she offers an apology, it’s superficial. She mimics happiness and she can probably mimic love. She isn’t psychopathic—her temper is pretty even, she isn’t necessarily predatory, and I can’t see her trying suicide. Way too narcissistic.”
“How the hell do you know all this?” Andrea asked.
Desandra sighed. “I’ve read a lot of psychology books. I started when I was a kid. I was trying to diagnose my father.”
Well, that was a surprise. “What’s the verdict?”
“He is a severe megalomaniac. He has intense narcissistic personality disorder, complete with occasional paranoia. He displays every one of Hotchkiss’s seven deadly sins of narcissism. That’s how I learned to manipulate him. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t help me with my mental health any, and he also knows which buttons to push.”
“Why don’t you . . .” Andrea struggled for words. “Act more sane?”
“Self-defense,” I told her. Suddenly many things made sense.