Greed (The Damning Book 1) by Katie May

Author:Katie May [May, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-25T16:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Z

“No way in hell,” I hissed the second I stepped into my room. “No way. No.”

Mali folded her arms, expression calculative as she watched me from the doorway. All I could see was red. I was positively livid - at the Shifter, at the world, even at my best friend.

“How the hell am I supposed to go to the dinner tonight as Zara when I’m supposed to be going as Z?” I hissed, shoving a hand through my blond hair. I had yet to shower, and I was sure I smelled something awful. “Why did you agree for me to go?”

“Because I panicked!” Mali threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “When the crowned princess asks you to go to dinner, you fucking go to dinner!”

Her lip turned down as she spoke, her nose scrunching up as if she had eaten something sour. I wondered if Mali knew this Shifter princess. That was the only reason I could think to explain the tightening of her eyes and the pursing of her lips.

“So what do you suppose we do?” I asked sarcastically. I was Z...but I was also Zara. I didn’t know how she expected me to be at two places at the same time. Not even a Mage could solve this problem.

“It’s easy.” She moved further into the spacious room and parted the heavy curtain. All I could see was her profile as she surveyed something through the window. “Diego will be Z.”

“Diego?” I asked, sure she was joking. Diego was a lot of things, but a badass assassin wasn’t one of them. He relied on HH to take care of him almost religiously. He blamed his chronic laziness on his Sloth genes. I blamed it on the man himself. “Diego stabbed himself accidentally with a toothpick and was in the hospital for a week.”

Mali grunted. “I know, but-”

“He once started a building on fire from a fart. From a fucking fart. Who does that?”

“It was the mating call-”

“And don’t even get me started on the peanut butter incident.”

“I feel verbally abused Zarakins,” Diego purred, stepping out of my bathroom. He was, once again, wrapped in only a towel.

“Did you use my shower again?” I said through gritted teeth. “And don’t call me that.”

“Baby girl. Relax. It’s just a dinner.”

At that, I let out a bark of laughter.

“Just a dinner? There will the most sick, twisted, psychotic men in existence at this dinner. They kill people, innocent people, and like it. They kill children, rape women, blow-up schools. And I’m willing to bet you money that they will attack at this dinner. Poison the drinks, perhaps? A knife to the throat? Brute force?” The more I spoke, the more I felt my resolve strengthening. I would never again put the people I loved at risk. It had already happened once with S. Guilt churned in my stomach like lead, weighing me down until I was practically falling through the floor.

Guilt wasn’t just an emotion, but a way of being. It was the thing that prohibited you from getting out of bed in the morning.

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