“No,” Tristian suddenly says, voice quiet. “You’ve got to give her some time to heal, Killer.” I throw him a look, weirded-out that he can read me so well. “I’m not here to fuck her,” I say, even though I would if I wanted to. But I’ve got a ritual to perform, so I jerk my chin at her. “She knew I’d be coming for her tonight. Maybe that’s why she drank this much.” Looking at the rise and fall of her chest, flushed from the alcohol, I idly muse, “Maybe it’s an olive branch or something. She knew I’d like it.” “Or,” Tristian offers, petting her forehead, “maybe it’s the only way she could
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