until Meghan passed out. She traveled to her rental car, the witch in tow, and drove thirty minutes north to the shithole neighborhood she’d chosen to carry out the murderous deed.
When a neighbor came out of her apartment as Niamh easily carried Meghan’s limp body upstairs, she’d made an amused, casual remark in muddled French about her girlfriend not being able to day drink. The neighbor just shrugged and pushed past them.
Niamh stared at the terrified O’Connor witch.
She should have just killed her in the park.
Why was she drawing it out like this?
Who are you?
Her conscience sounded like Kiyo again.
Please, please don’t hurt me.
She flinched, remembering Meghan’s pleas when she’d first gained consciousness hours before.
Do you know who I am?
The witch had shaken her head.
Your coven murdered my brother trying to take down Rose Kelly.
Meghan’s eyes widened with recognition. I remember you. You threw me out the window.
You survived. Ronan didn’t. Your coven murdered him.
I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. She made me do it. I’m sorry.
Me too.
Niamh glared at the witch now. I’m so sorry, Ronan.
11
As Conall slowed the rental car to a stop, Kiyo scowled at their surroundings. The neighborhood was one big dumpster fire. Between buildings was garbage and piles of discarded junk. Old, stained mattresses were stacked next to an ancient, rusted-out washing machine, flanked by rotten pallets and black garbage bags long decimated by vermin.
The buildings themselves were old and run-down. Some were covered in graffiti. Washing hung out of the windows of apartments on the upper floors while plywood had been nailed across windows on the lower floors.
It was the exact kind of place he’d choose to hide out if he’d, say, kidnapped a fae woman or was planning on hurting someone. What was Niamh doing? His gut knotted.
“This car might not sit here too long,” Kiyo observed grimly, trying to hide his anxiety.
“Aye.” Conall shot Kiyo an equally grim look. “This is a side of Paris I’ve never seen before.”
“Every city has places like this. No matter how beautiful the rest of it is.”
“Even the Highlands has places like this,” Conall agreed as he pushed open the driver’s-side door. “If the world existed as a wolf pack does, wealth would be distributed equally, and no place on earth would look or feel like this.”
If he wasn’t so concerned about tracking down Niamh, Kiyo might have smirked at the wolf’s idealism. Conall had apparently inherited it from his grandfather who could wax lyrical for hours on the advantages of pack life. And Kiyo had to admit, one of the things he’d admired most about Clan MacLennan and its chief was that everyone within the pack was provided with a pack stipend. No one would ever go without in their pack.
Following Conall out onto the sidewalk, Kiyo caught sight of two men farther down the street, leaning against an apartment building, staring at them. Or at the car.
He stared defiantly back, emitting as much alpha energy as he could and watched in satisfaction as the two men not only averted their gaze but hurried away in the opposite direction.
“You’d make quite the leader if you ever fancied creating your own pack,” Conall said.
He turned to find Conall watching him with a glint of admiration. Kiyo cocked an eyebrow.
“Your energy,” Conall explained. “I didn’t expect it, and it almost took me to my knees.”
“But didn’t.”
The Scot grinned. “Not once I fought it off with my own.”
He gave him a distracted nod. “Where is Niamh?”
Conall’s smile disappeared. He lifted his chin toward the building behind him. The one with the mattresses and other used shit spilled out on its “lawn.” They hurried toward it and found the entrance system broken. The building door swung open easily.
“Up here,” Conall said in a low voice.
Kiyo had to admit, he was envious of Conall’s tracking ability. It guided them to an apartment door on the third floor. Kiyo knew it was accurate because he could smell Niamh. He smelled that spicy-sweet scent of hers in the tight, graffiti-covered stairwell, and it grew stronger the closer they got to the apartment.
Something like nervousness twisted his gut, which made as much sense as his anxiousness. Kiyo was never nervous or anxious.
What the hell was happening to him?
And what the hell was happening to Niamh?
His urgency and worry overpowered that twist in his gut, and he grabbed the door handle and yanked until it broke. He and Conall moved into the apartment at speed and came to an abrupt halt at what they found