XAVIER
“You’re joking.”
She looks frightened, white-faced, like his name alone is more than enough to suck the blood right out of her body, leaving her skin a delicious kind of silvery grey color.
I clench my fists, trying to stop my jaw from doing the same is almost impossible.
He should be a dead body at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, left there to be feasted on, torn from limb to limb, but Val insisted—solely because of her—and we all do what Val says.
I wipe my mouth clean with the tissue paper folded into the shape of a sandwich.
“I’m afraid not, sweet cheeks. We should get ready now. The earlier we leave for Westfield, the quicker we can return.”
She blinks, staring at me with nothing but shock and fear written across every line of her face.
“You can’t be serious,” a
