Chapter 162: A Kept Woman
Logan sighs and brushes my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering at my temple. The tenderness of the gesture makes my stomach drop; it’s not him being sweet. It’s him softening a blow.
"Scott’s girlfriend came forward. As a witness."
This... isn’t the surprise. They’d already mentioned the rumors. Still, I shift uncomfortably. "It’s confirmed?"
He nods, his expression grim. "And apparently she has footage of you arguing with Scott. The night he was murdered."
This is the blow.
My brain stutters, trying to process what he’s saying. I pull back, breaking contact with his hand, and press my fingers against my temple. The memories of that night are still nonexistent, but I know one thing—"That’s impossible."
"Nicole—"
"No, I mean it. There’s just no way. Where is it? Where were we? Because I didn’t go anywhere that night, and woke up covered in his blood. I never would have let him in."
He draws in a deep breath, then lets it all out at once. "I know."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?" A hot flicker of panic shoots through my chest. "Like you’re not sure."
"I’m not looking at you like anything. I’m just telling you what they’re saying. I know you didn’t kill him, Nikki. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. It doesn’t matter if they brought forward a video of you stabbing him in the chest—Scott was a beta. There’s no way you could overpower him."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to calm the storm building inside me. "So she’s lying. Obviously. But why would she do this?"
"The video appears to show you two having a heated argument outside his apartment building. According to the timestamp, it was taken approximately ninety minutes before his estimated time of death."
My mouth goes dry. "That’s bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit. There’s no reason on this planet I would go to his apartment."
I slide off the bed; the mood’s been irrevocably cancelled.
"I know that. The problem is the footage looks real. Professional analysis, not just some guy with a laptop claiming it’s authentic. It’s a problem. I’m not blaming you or saying it’s real, Nikki. I’m on your side, remember?"
My heart keeps beating like crazy, alternating between weird, swoopy flutters and jackhammer pacing. But I nod. No point in being defensive against someone who already trusts me.
My anger should be directed at the right people. This isn’t a moment for Irrational Nicole.
"So what, they’ve got a shape-shifter? A doppelganger? It’s a magical fucking community, Logan. There are a thousand ways to fake this."
Yep, I’m so fucking calm.
Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I grit out, "I’m sorry. I’m not trying to take it out on you."
"I know, Nicole." His eyes rove over my face, and I wonder if even my expressions look different.
They probably do.
I sigh. This is a mess of a situation.
Thanks for the fucking headache, Scott. I know he’s dead and I probably shouldn’t lay the blame at his cold zombie feet, but come on. What did I do in a past life to deserve this?
Logan clears his throat. "We have to approach this carefully. Thankfully, you’re already under this glamour—but I think we have to leave the hotel. We need to go somewhere no one can trace to our names, even the Conclave."
"Wait—the Conclave is on our side, aren’t they?" Mostly, anyway.
"There’s a nifty concept we call spies, Nicole."
Ah.
Right. Got it. We need to keep me top secret. Mission Impossible Nicole. I nod, wishing I didn’t feel like a freaking bobblehead.
Logan rubs at his eyebrow. "The video’s going to complicate things," he says, his voice low and measured. The calm to my panic. "But I’ll get it figured out. Trust me."
I nod again. I do trust him. Really. It’s just me who feels like a fragile thing right now—like blown glass that’s still hot and malleable, beautiful but ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
Seriously, what a way to come down from the high of my new ass...ets.
Without warning, he reaches for me, pulls me down onto his lap, and wraps his arms around me. The sudden move makes my breath catch and my heart surge with warmth. His forehead presses against the back of my shoulder, his breath warm through the thin fabric of my shirt.
"I’ll keep you safe, no matter what," he murmurs. "You won’t spend a single day in jail over that bastard. I promise you that."
I squeeze my hands against his arms, feeling the hard muscle beneath my fingers. The strength in them is reassuring, though it’s a modern age and I can’t just ask my muscle-bound mate to properly beat down the people harassing me.
It’s a tempting thought, though.
I lean back against him with another long, long sigh—it feels like years of my life are coming out with all the carbon dioxide. My lungs empty completely, and for a moment, I wonder if they’ll ever fill again.
But, of course, they do. Because breathing is necessary and dramatic Nicole is being ridiculous.
When will life ever calm down? When did the universe decide that Nicole d’Armand needed this much excitement? I never signed up for murder accusations, magical revelations, and running from the law.
I signed up for a normal life with a steady job and maybe a dog someday.
Well. I guess I got the dog. And a cat. I had a steady job, and now I’m unemployed. Actually, if you really want to break it down, I’ve become a bum, leeching off the Conclave, Penelope, and Logan.
I mean, I have my own money—take my advice and make it a habit to squirrel away money as often as possible—but it isn’t like I’ve needed to use it very much. Getting the occasional coffee drink and sandwich for lunch is not the same as having a boyfriend who often comes by with bags of groceries to fill your fridge.
Huh.
At some point, Logan’s turned me into a kept woman, and I didn’t even notice...
Then I blink, reality crashing back as a new worry surfaces.
"What am I going to do about Thornhaven? The Conclave—"
"Fuck Thornhaven. Fuck the Conclave. They can wait until this is over."