Edge of Seventeen by Cristy Rey Read Free Book Online

control it. Being alone meant not
having Maggie and, without Maggie or her sisters, then Sunday
wasn’t sure that what she had was a gift rather than a curse. A
really shitty, really horrible, and, evidently, ironically enviable curse .
    None of that was helping matters any in
Bernadette’s lair. For all her training and all the knowing better,
Sunday tore her concentration away from keeping up her walls to
protect herself from Bernadette, and let her mind wander to the
question of the Incarnate. As her shields waned, the witch’s power
bulged. It pushed its metaphysical body to the edge of Sunday’s
consciousness. Slowly, Sunday became aware of it, and she snapped
back to the task at-hand.
    “The Incarnate’s a crock of shit,” Sunday
spat.
    From behind the blindfold, she narrowed her
eyes and shot a hard look into the darkness and in the direction of
the witch Bernadette. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see
Sunday’s glower. Sunday shimmied her shields down just enough to
ensure that anyone standing just outside the walls would feel
it.
    Turning back to face the ceiling and pushing
her shoulders back so that they rested flat against the cement bed
on which she lay tied and shackled, Sunday clenched her molars
tight and felt her jaw pulse.
    “Let’s get this goddamn show on the road,”
she spat.
    Shaking her head quickly, she bit down on her
lip and focused on reasserting her strong will. Nevertheless, the
first words she spoke were the last that she would have for some
time where she had any real control over herself. After that, she
was nothing more than a pet project for the strongest witch in the
Northwest, a witch who would later assert control over the entire
country.
     
     

CHAPTER
SIX
    Cyrus sat
cross-legged at his post, eyes boring into the pages of a well-worn
copy of Heart of Darkness . The hallway’s walls were dense
with religious tapestries. Red-blood carpeting and gold accents
spoke of rich opulence that contradicted Bernadette’s otherwise
stark presentation. If the witch wore bangles and necklaces, they
were nothing particularly handsome. The house, however, was
straight out of a Russian oligarch’s dream. The wealth Bernadette
had acquired through her organization was well catalogued in even
the dankest corner of her estate.
    Rather than take off for Alaska on the
morning after the Incarnate exchanged hands, Cyrus told Stephen
that he’d be staying in Seattle for another day. When Stephen asked
why, Cyrus merely said that it was a private matter. They locked
eyes for a full minute while Stephen attempted to crack Cyrus’ ever
resilient mask of emotions, but he found nothing. Nothing but
purpose.
    However clear the determination was in Cyrus,
the direction was not. When Cyrus approached Bernadette the next
morning, he had nothing to ask and nothing to say. Not anything he
could put into words, anyway. For whatever magical or mundane
reason, Cyrus just couldn’t pull himself away from the girl he’d
dropped into Bernadette’s hands. He couldn’t get on a plane to
Alaska, and he couldn’t put one step in front of the other in any
direction that didn’t lead him straight back to the fourteen
year-old.
    “I won’t lie to you, Cyrus Barrow,”
Bernadette said with a gleam in her eye. She leaned forward onto
her elbows and gave Cyrus another once-over.
    “Your employment would be a boon to my
business. You’re a well-regarded hunter and a much- feared
werewolf.” She paused for a moment, but only to crack a sinister
smile. “What I’d like to know is, in all honesty, why you would want to stay on with me. You have an exceptional commitment
with the Alaska contingent. You are a soldier and a field agent.
The only occupation I could provide you is my protection detail
and, depending on the outcome, the protection detail for the child.
I don’t suppose that would be suitable to a man of your particular
temperament.”
    Cyrus’ lips pressed into a tight, impassive
line as he