Dahlia

  Bennett's threat lingered for only a second before Hawthorne pounded a fist on the table—making both me and the bottles jump. Bennett caught the bottles easily as he furrowed his eyes at his companion, who had just rudely interrupted the start of his interrogation.

  Clearly, Hawthorne’s reaction surprised him, but no one was as surprised as Hawthorne had been to learn that the Reaper had been in my home.

  And he was furious.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turned away, taking Maiza’s hand and pulling her from her seat to lead her towards the staircase in the back.

  The poor woman was shaking in terror now.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Hawthorne rose and stepped forward—casting a shadow over us.

  Maiza cowered into me, and I carefully pried her fingers from my tunic before pushing her towards the stairs and gesturing for Max to follow, “Go with Maiza. I’ll be okay.”

  Max was watching me with narrowed eyes like he, too, was furious to learn that the Reaper had been in my home, but he only paused for a second before he strode over to the staircase and disappeared with Maiza in tow.

  Hawthorne was on me in an instant, gripping my shoulders and spinning me around to face him. His eyes were affixed to my own in a glare that would make even the boldest person quiver before him.

  Hawthorne was furious.

  “You’re a liar, little human.”

  “Yes—an excellent liar, actually.” I wrinkled my nose—feigning amusement in my drunken state.

  Hawthorne’s eyes widened at my admission, and he seemed to lose his train of thought.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Portia casually lean back in her chair, which made me want to strangle her for being so relaxed despite the danger these Imms posed. She requested, “Please don’t hurt my employee. I’d probably never find a suitable replacement if something happened to her.”

  I almost smiled. That sounded like a compliment—sort of.

  Hawthorne’s grip on my arms tightened—making me wince as my fa?ade fell apart—but to my surprise, Bennett called out in a bored tone, “Let the human go, Hawthorne. You’re going to break her, and we aren't done with her yet.”

  Hawthorne immediately released me and seemed to look me over as if concerned that I’d been harmed, not that I believed he actually cared about my welfare. He just needed me to find the Reaper.

  Portia waved me towards the table, “May as well sit down, Dahlia.”

  Hawthorne didn’t give me a chance to protest. He pushed me towards the table, making me stumble a little in my state. When I reached the others, I stood behind the open chair and looked at the two Imms towering over me. For a moment, I considered running, but barring a miracle, I wouldn’t outrun the Imms.

  No. I was stuck here.

  “Sit.”

  Hawthorne was watching me closely—seething with anger as he spoke that single word with so much intensity, I almost flinched.

  With a sigh of resignation, I pulled out the chair and joined them at the high-topped table. Bennett absently handed me one of his bottles, and I drank greedily from it until Hawthorne tore the bottle from my lips, “Enough of that—you’re already drunk, human.”

  “I happen to like her in this state,” Bennett chuckled, "I'm tempted to join her."

  The rest of us ignored his comment.

  “Explain,” Portia ordered—looking at me in the dangerous way she used to look at the partners who had betrayed her—partners who often became street beggars by the time she was done with them.

  I hesitated—not sure what to say—but then a thought came to me. Maybe I could tell them a little bit of the truth—enough to direct their focus away from me.

  I focused my attention on Hawthorne and began, “Do you know what the Imms do to the children they kidnap from the Red?”

  “What does that have to do with—” he began.

  I waved a hand to interrupt him, and he glared at me, narrowing his dark eyes as I snapped, “I’ll get to that! Do you know or not?”

  “If you value your life,” Hawthorne growled, “You’ll refrain from interrupting me again.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I feigned my most apologetic, sweet voice, “I didn’t know you were so easily offended, Hawthorne. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  Bennett snorted a laugh and nudged his Imm companion, who was busy glaring at me, “Let her talk. You can punish her later.”

  Hawthorne crossed his arms and looked down at me. “Fine. Continue.”

  I swallowed hard as I tried not to imagine how Hawthorne might punish me, and when I found my voice, I continued, “The Reaper claims the intruders are taking our children for breeding."

  I made a face at the foul word and added, "They want Red Halflings.”

  “Could he be a Halfling, then?” Hawthorne asked—eyes narrowed on me now. “A Red Halfling, perhaps?”

  The sound of that damned word on his lips nearly sent me into a spiral. I hadn’t meant to reveal that detail to them. I felt my pulse quicken as panic started to set in. Hawthorne cocked his head at me and smirked, “Seems so, given your reaction.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I started to deny it, but Hawthorne knew he was onto something. He leaned over the table towards me and grinned—teeth gleaming, “Do you know what we do to Red Halflings, Dahlia?”

  I felt my mouth become dry, but I managed, “You kill them—everyone knows that.”

  “Yes, but we like to torment them a little—display their tortured bodies as a warning to others,” Hawthorne smiled darkly, making my blood run cold.

  Would he give me that same treatment? I couldn't bear to think of it.

  “That’s sick,” I pushed away from the table—intending to leave before I said something else I’d regret.

  “Where are you going?” Hawthorne’s eyes darkened as I rose.

  “Away from you.” I turned, only for Hawthorne to reach forward and grip my arm firmly—his massive hand covered the bulk of my forearm.

  “We aren’t done with you.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know!” I protested as I tried to yank my arm from his grasp.

  Ignoring my protests, Hawthorne shoved me back into the chair, shaking his head, “You may have missed a few crucial details. Keep talking, human. What do these intruders want with Red Halflings?”

  I could have lied, but I didn’t trust myself to do it well.

  “The Sight,” I finally muttered, “The Reaper claims Red Halflings have the Sight—the intruders want it for themselves, I guess.”

  Bennett and Hawthorne shared a look before Bennett shrugged at his companion, “Not many of them inherit the Sight. It isn’t worth the effort, in my opinion.”

  Apparently, that part of the Reaper’s story was true, making him a little more credible in my eyes.

  “They want Imms with the Sight,” I continued before adding, “Don’t ask me why or how. I’m skeptical about all of this.”

  “It seems this Reaper might know more, though,” Hawthorne sneered at me, “So, take us to your Halfling friend, Dahlia. We promise not to hurt him too much. Maybe we can even give him a quick, painless death.”

  I sputtered, “I don’t know where he is! We aren’t exactly close. I don’t know the first thing about him.”

  “Do you think we're fools? Why the fuck would he tell you any of this, then?” Hawthorne asked—leaning towards me as if to intimidate me.

  “I—I don’t know,” I shuddered at Hawthorne’s presence—feeling the weight of his closeness and our strange connection.

  “I think you’re a liar.”

  Hawthorne brought his face far too close to mine for comfort. His dark eyes, sharp nose, and wicked mouth were just inches from mine—I could even feel the soft caress of his breath against my skin with every breath he took. And he smelled so good—too good—like a rainstorm on the horizon. Thoughts of kissing him—finally tasting the man I’d fantasized about for so long—intruded on my mind, and I nearly leaned forward to press my lips to his.

  Instead, the rational part of my mind won the fight for control, even with alcohol coursing through my veins. I couldn't be a slave to my impulses.

  I glared. “No. I’m not going to help you, Imm. Find him yourself.”

  Hawthorne’s eyes roamed over my face searching for…something. Well, I didn’t quite know what he was looking for, but I made every effort to appear certain.

  Stubborn.

  Because I wasn’t going to betray the Reaper tonight or ever—not to the Imms.

  When Hawthorne didn’t speak, I explained, “The Reaper is doing this city a public service—he’s a hero. I won’t put him at risk. If you want more information, talk to the Imm intruders.”

  “He’s a murderer, regardless of how you feel about the Mirnen,” Hawthorne hissed as he leaned in even closer, “Or have you forgotten the people—my people—he’s murdered here? What about the Predictors he killed? They’re human, so perhaps you care more about them.”

  I considered this. He wasn’t wrong about my feelings towards the Predictors—even if I was the one to kill them. I had thought of the Imms as monsters for so long that it was hard to see the humanity lurking in them—in any of them.

  “Maybe your people should stay out of Firen and keep their hands off our children,” I growled as I tried to shove him back.

  But as I pressed my hands firmly against his chest, he caught them and pulled me against him with a smirk as he leaned down as if he meant to kiss me. But before he could press his lips to mine, he gripped my jaw forcefully to turn my head to the side—making me gasp in surprise as he ran his tongue over my face from jaw to temple and laughed, “Did you really think I’d kiss you, human?”

  That wasn’t what happened, and he knew it. He’d been about to kiss me, not the other way around.

  I wiped his saliva from my face and growled, “You bastard. I wasn’t—”

  He pushed me away forcefully and sneered, “This is the closest you will ever get to having the privilege of kissing me, human.”

  Hawthorne’s dark eyes that conveyed every ounce of his hatred—for himself or me, I didn’t know. But beneath that hatred was desire—I could see it plain on his face.

  Liar.

  I felt a rush of satisfaction at the confirmation that our connection worked both ways. I’d suspected as much, but until now, I had my doubts.

  I smirked at him—feeling a little pleased with myself.

  Hawthorne’s eyes narrowed at the change in me, “You’re a brave little temptress, aren’t you?”

  “Hawthorne, stop,” Bennett urged, confusion plain on his face.

  But we both ignored him.

  “Do I tempt you, Imm?” I asked Hawthorne as I straightened my shirt—smoothing the fabric with shaking hands.

  “Seems so—though I can’t ascertain why. You’re nothing special.” He shrugged off Bennett’s hand and stepped forward. “Mortal. Weak. And not as slim as I’d like—though you’ve made good progress since we first met.”

  Distantly, I heard Bennett swear under his breath. He seemed to have just realized that Hawthorne and I had met before—but I wasn't focused on Bennett right now.

  My attention was on Hawthorne's comment.

  Sure, maybe I wasn’t as thin as the Imm women he claimed to prefer. But years of training had kept me strong and toned. In places, my hips and thighs were full and soft—even my belly was soft—but I wasn’t big by any means. I was a woman—imperfect, perhaps, but still attractive by any measure.

  I knew this.

  And yet, his words still hurt like sharp barbs to my confidence.

  Perhaps, he didn’t feel the same attraction for me as I did for him. Maybe this connection was nothing more than a nuisance to him.

  For reasons I didn't fully understand, that didn't sit well with me.

  I winced at the thought, and he smiled at my reaction—taking another step forward, “What? You’re pretty, but did you think everyone was attracted to you? Come now, human. Your ego is far too big, if that's the case.”

  When I rolled my eyes, he laughed and continued, “I admire your confidence, but you are nothing like our Mirnen women.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I'd never claimed to be like them, despite sharing some of their blood.

  “You’re right. I’m better,” I taunted with a sweet smile.

  His brows furrowed. He hadn’t expected me to argue.

  “You’re not. How could you think I’d have any real interest in—”

  I cut him off with a hand wave, “Go bother someone else, Imm. I’m perfectly happy without your approval. There are plenty of men who like me the way I am—men who treat me well and don’t threaten me or insult me. I don’t need you. In fact, I’d prefer you leave and never return.”

  Hawthorne stilled—nostrils flaring with anger now as he prepared his retort.

  But I didn’t let him speak.

  With a dramatic eye roll, I turned towards the still-open front door and announced, “I’d tell you good luck in your search for the Reaper, but I, for one, hope you fail. I hope he keeps killing the Imm intruders.”

  I felt the smoldering of my confidence morph into flame as I distanced myself from the Imm men, who still sat with Portia, the three of them stunned by my boldness. Maybe the alcohol running through my veins was giving me confidence, but maybe I’d also inadvertently made myself invaluable to the Imms.

  They needed me to find the Reaper, especially now that they knew I had spoken to him after they'd gone weeks without any progress. Even I could sense the Imms’ growing desperation. It didn’t matter what they thought of me. My connection with Hawthorne didn’t even matter.

  Because he was an Imm—a threat to me, and nothing else. I was content to hate him forever.

  Feeling suddenly emboldened by the thought, as I reached the open door, I looked back at the Imm men seated at the small table with Portia, taking note of their shock with grim satisfaction, and called out in a firm voice, “Because the Reaper is a hero, and you’re all just fucking monsters.”