His eyes fell to the package on the floor of the culvert, his voice echoing in the concrete tunnel. “What have you done?” Roman hissed.
“What you won’t.”
Roman squinted at his sister. “Again, I thought we were supposed to be sharing the helm.”
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her patchwork leather coat. “That ship has sailed.”
Flippant as always. “So is this your version of a coup? Shall I graciously step down and leave you to your own devices?”
“Rayna!” he scolded.
“You’re not suited to leadership, dear brother. Your spine is a bit…jiggly.”
Breathe. Don’t get angry. He peered down at the unconscious woman on the concrete floor, trussed up in rope like she was a participant in one of his sister’s sex games. His sister had gained a bit of a reputation as the Dominatrix of the clan. Male witches seemed unnaturally drawn to her power. “Why have you taken her?”
He tasted blood on his tongue. He’d have to remind himself not to clench his jaw so hard. “I don’t want to wait and see, Rayna. Tell me! You are not in charge.”
Turning her toothy smile on him, she said, ”Yes. I think I am. Now, just follow along, Roman. I’ll show you how it’s done.” She rammed the toe of her boot into the prisoner’s back, as her brother winced. The woman grunted, stirred, opened heavy eyelids. Realizing her situation, she struggled at the ropes, to no avail, eyes darting up to meet Rayna’s. Reading her. Or trying to. But Rayna had always possessed strong defenses.
He stood at the end of the tunnel, silhouetted in the backlight of sunset. Trevor.