“Oh my God. You did know,” Macy says, and she sounds sick.

“I didn’t.” He shakes his head emphatically. “I never would have brought you here if I did. But you’ve got to see her side of it, too. This is the guy who killed her son.”

“Because her son was working with Cyrus to take over the fucking world,” I tell him, and I can’t believe we are even having this discussion. “He was going to hurt a lot of people. He—”

“He was my brother! And I loved him. Now, it turns out he wasn’t a good guy—and I’m sorry for that. I really am. But you don’t get to kill people for being assholes. Do you really think Hudson should go unpunished for what he did to Damien? For what he did to my entire family?”

“You mean the way you went unpunished for trying to kill me, over and over again?” I ask. “Or didn’t I matter, because Lia had already killed my parents, and there was no one left to miss me?”

“My dad and I would have missed you,” Macy says quietly.

“Well, then.” I give Flint a bloodless smile. “There you go.”

“It’s not the same, Grace. I was trying to save—”

“What? The world?” I ask, all wide eyes and saccharin sweet. “From whom? Me?”

I give Macy and Luca my most innocent look. “But that’s a little strange by your logic, considering I didn’t do a damn thing. I didn’t even know what was going on. Lia was the one with the evil plan. Lia was the one trying to ‘destroy the world’ by bringing big, bad Hudson Vega back. But she was too powerful to take on, so you decided I had to die. You decided I was collateral damage in your plot to save the world. A reasonable loss.”

My throat clogs up with emotion, but I take a second to clear it because I’m not done yet. “And what did I do, Flint? Did I press charges? Did I demand that you go to prison for attempted murder? Assault? Accessory to human fucking sacrifice? No, I didn’t. I let it go; I moved on. Because I understood that you were stuck, that there were no good options, and you were trying to save whomever you could.

“And I’m good with that decision. I still believe it was the right thing to do. I thought we could leave the past in the past and it would all be okay. But you don’t get to be all sanctimonious with me now, you sorry son of a bitch. Because the only difference I can see between what Hudson did and what you did is he succeeded. And his target had it coming.

“So fuck you and your whole Dragon Court. I’m going to find this dungeon or basement or wherever they’re holding him on my own, I’m going to get Hudson, and then we’re going to get the fuck out of here. And if you and I never talk again, well, that’s fine by me. I never could stand hypocrites anyway.”

75

Ditto

Flint doesn’t say a word, though he has turned a sickly shade of beige that would normally concern me. But right now, I’m too damn mad to care. And his blocking the door—and my path to freedom—only makes me angrier. Maybe that’s why I put a whole lot of stone into my shoulder when I shove my way past him.

And run straight into Nuri, because apparently, she’s fucking everywhere. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“You done with your little temper tantrum?” she asks mildly.

“I don’t know. Did you let my mate go yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well, then I guess the tantrum’s not over yet.” I start to walk right by her, but she grabs my wrist, holds me in place. Which makes me even angrier.

“You’re going to want to let go of me,” I tell her.

“And you’re going to want to calm down,” she shoots back, but she releases my wrist. “I’m only willing to give you so much room, Grace.”

“Yeah, well, I feel the same way about you, Nuri.”

Macy gulps audibly, and Luca, who is still in the hallway, takes a large step into my bedroom, I assume because he wants out of the blast zone.

In the meantime, Nuri’s eyes narrow. “I think you mean Your Majesty.”

It’s a low blow, pulling rank on me, but here’s the thing. She’s not the only one with a title. Which is why I smile sweetly at her and say, “Ditto.”

Part of me expects her to slap me back into what she thinks is my place—God knows, Cyrus would have—but that same part is also welcoming it. Because I’m not the same girl I was in November, lost and exhausted and so sad that the path of least resistance seemed like the only road to take.

Jaxon and Hudson and Macy have all helped me in their own way to break through the sadness and the numbness, to find myself again—and not just the old me but a stronger version of me, one who is more than capable of taking care of myself and the people I love. I’m not going back to that broken existence, not now and hopefully not ever again.

But Nuri surprises me. Instead of taking a swing at me, she says, “Okay, Grace. If you want to play with the big girls, I say let’s play Let’s Make a Deal.”

It’s my turn to narrow my eyes at her. “What does that mean?”

She laughs. “Don’t go getting cautious on me now. Come on, step into my office.” Then she turns and starts walking down the hall.

“Said the spider to the fly,” I mutter.

“I think you mean dragon, don’t you?” she asks over her shoulder with a brow raised in a regal arch. “So much deadlier than spiders.”

It’s a threat, pure and simple, but it doesn’t scare me. She doesn’t scare me, at least not anymore. Because if there’s a deal to be had about getting Hudson out of those damn chains, I am all in.

Her office ends up being one floor down, so we take the stairs in silence (I don’t think either one of us is cool with getting in a closed elevator with the other right now). My phone goes off the whole time, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Macy is the one blowing it up.

Part of me wouldn’t mind a little advice on how to handle Nuri, but there’s no way I’m going to show weakness by pulling it out. Besides, I think I need to trust my own instincts on this.

When we finally get to her office, she throws the door open with a theatrical air, and as soon as I pass through the doorway, I know why. Just like I know why she insisted on having the meeting here and not somewhere else. Her office is as dramatic and elegant and powerful as the dragon queen herself.

Her desk itself is quite delicate—a Queen Anne writing desk like my mom used to have, though hers was in dark cherry. But that’s where the delicacy ends. The colors of the furniture and fabrics and walls are bold reds, majestic purples, and powerful whites that catch the eye and the imagination.

There’s a tall glass case towering in the corner, with what look to be Egyptian artifacts on display. A papyrus, a vase, and some ancient-looking jewelry. I remember Flint mentioning once that his mom was from an Egyptian dragon clan, so these are probably objects of great importance to her.

Along the wall facing massive windows overlooking the city—what a view!—are three pieces of modern art in bold colors that send a powerful message of strength and uniqueness, and the knickknacks, all dragon-or royalty-related in some way, add a further note of authenticity to the whole office. As does the heavily used laptop on the edge of the desk.

“Would you like something to drink?” Nuri asks, gesturing to a small wet bar in the corner—and a silver pitcher sitting on top of it, along with several goblets.

“Hemlock?” I ask, because I wouldn’t put it past her at the moment.

“Close,” she answers with a laugh. “Pineapple juice. Would you like some?”

“I’m good.”

“Please have a seat.” She gestures to one of the two chairs in front of her desk. They’re upholstered in pure, pristine white, and any other time, I might be terrified to sit in them for fear of a leaky pen or spilling my drink.

I pick the left one and am just petty enough to regret not taking her up on the juice.

She takes the purple chair behind her desk, which looks a lot more like a throne than an ergonomic desk chair.

Once seated, she picks up a pen to twirl between her fingers as she watches me for several seconds, waiting, I’m sure, for my nerves to get the best of me. And, not going to lie, I’ve got plenty of nerves going on. Plenty of voices in the back of my head telling me that I need to be really careful when it comes to Nuri.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “Would you agree, Grace, that actions have consequences?”

“I would agree to that,” I tell her. “If we can agree motivation should play a big part in those consequences. And I would also argue that those who live in glass skyscrapers shouldn’t throw stones.”