“You notice me, Tristan,” she said in a rush of anger, standing up. “Just you. And what, you think no one is going to notice a god of a man with glowing eyes and a fucking cape?”
“I can blend into walls,” he replied calmly. “So no, they won’t notice me, even godlike as you think I am.”
Her face turned red with indignation and frustration as she turned to Austin Steele again.
“Please reconsider, alpha. I’ve been doing this all my life. I’m a pro at it. I’m better than Sebastian. Certainly better than Tristan, no matter what sweet nothings he whispers in your ear. I’m more up to date than Niamh. This should be my detail.”
“Careful about your tone,” Austin Steele warned, his power crawling up Niamh’s spine uncomfortably. “You don’t have the magic Sebastian does, Nessa, and I need you to rest up so you can keep working with the garhettes. Sebastian thinks the mages who might disappear tonight will start the countdown and prompt Momar to act. I understand how much you want to go, but we have to think of the larger picture here.”
She huffed out a little laugh, her hands braced on her hips. Tilting her head, she stared at the floor for a moment before looking back up and searing Tristan with a glare. Her eyes shimmered just a little, as though she might cry, before she started off down the hall without another word.
Sebastian stared after her, his shoulders hunched. “She was the one who said that Momar would act fast once his mages started disappearing. There was already that one in the garage, and now there might be more tonight. He’ll know something is up.” He sighed softly. “I didn’t know she’d react like that. I can always put a glamour over her face. Apparently I make very ugly false faces.”
“We don’t need everyone for everything,” Austin Steele said, a little crease between his brows.
He hadn’t anticipated she’d react like that either. “Let’s get tonight underway. Keep your heads down.
Do not create a situation that will reflect unfavorably on the pack.”
“Yes, alpha,” they said in unison.
“Let me know if our trap catches a mouse, yes?”
“Yes, alpha,” they repeated.
“Good luck.”
As they headed for the door, Sebastian still clearly feeling guilty, Niamh fell in next to Tristan.
“Ye don’t seem put out by Nessa’s reaction,” she said. “Or seem to have an ounce of guilt.”
“Nope.”
“And why is that? Grudge match? Proving you have the louder voice in this pack, or whatever we’re calling it now?”
“Neither. She doesn’t want to be a monster, and there’s no reason she has to be. I’m perfectly fine taking the morally questionable jobs so she can keep her hands clean.”
Niamh nodded slowly. Suddenly the situation with the mage in the garage made a lot more sense.
“Noble,” she said as they reached the front door. He held it open for her. “But yer doin’ it wrong.”
“Why is that?”
“She doesn’t know whether she’s fine bein’ a monster, as ye say—I take offense to that, by the way. That must mean I’m a monster, too, since I don’t mind any of this one bit. It’s natural, like. Kill or be killed.”
“If the shoe fits.”
“I’ll tell ye what wears shoes—donkeys. If I’m a monster, yer a donkey, how’s that?”
“Actually, most donkeys have sturdy hooves and don’t need shoes. But that’s fine. I’ll be the ass of the outfit if that makes you feel better.”
She huffed. “Well, anyway, Nessa’s path in life was chosen for her. She’s looking at that white picket fence and nice yard and annoyin’ neighbors and thinking that’s what her life should’ve been.
Maybe that’s what it would’ve been, if she’d been allowed to choose for herself. But her life was
forced on her by circumstance, wasn’t it, Sebastian?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” he said quietly.
“It’s the grass is always greener situation,” Niamh went on as they reached the front yard. “What she really wants is a decision about where her life goes next. We all do. Yer takin’ that away from her.
Yer forcing her in the other direction and telling her it’s good fer her. Yer using yer position to take away her power, like. With a woman like her, that’ll mean yer head, just you wait.”
He slowed to a stop in the driveway. “She told me what she wanted in the form of wishful thinking and emotionally breaking down about the life she had. She told me her dreams, and also what she hated. I’m just carrying it out. Is that not a choice? I’m not afraid of her violence if I’m helping her rest a little easier.”