A Bloody Good Secret: Secret McQueen, Book 2 by Sierra Dean Page B

wrong lane before I caught myself, steadied the wheel and corrected the direction. “Wow.”
    “I’m sorry, I just wanted to know.”
    “I don’t know, Kellen.” I gripped the wheel a little too hard. “I haven’t known him all that long.”
    “But he’s courting you, you know?” The word courting sounded strange coming from the lips of a nineteen-year-old club kid. I knew what she meant, but it was still difficult to put the concept together with the person speaking it.
    “I know.”
    “And you’re soul-bonded.”
    “Yes.”
    “So, don’t you, like, love each other by default?”
    I stared at the highway. An updraft caught my hair and blew it across my face, then back up and over my head. It tickled the back of my neck. The air smelled like rain, but it wasn’t close enough to cause immediate worry.
    “I care about him.”
    “And what about Desmond?”
    “We’re not discussing this.” I froze up, all my defenses locking into place. “We’re not discussing my relationship with Desmond.”
    A thin smile spread across her lips, and I knew I’d given her all the answer she needed.
    For the next hour we didn’t speak. She found the radio and contented herself with a pop station. I hated every other song, but I didn’t argue because it meant she wasn’t asking me anything. When we were within view of the city skyline, she dropped a bomb on me.
    “I used to be in love with Desmond.”
    I slammed on the brakes before colliding with a car that had slowed to a stop ahead of me. No longer moving, I turned and fixed my eyes on her.
    “What?”
    “Desmond. I was in love with him.”
    “Why are you telling me this?”
    She shrugged. “It’s not like it means anything. I was only fifteen, and he wanted nothing to do with me. We grew up together, so I was like a sister to him. But I guess I know what it’s like. Loving him, I mean.”
    I didn’t think Kellen had any grasp on what it meant to be soul-bonded. She was human, so she’d given up her claim on experiencing the werewolf version of finding one’s soul mate. I doubted her fifteen-year-old schoolgirl crush on a then twenty-something Desmond was anything like what I felt for him. But how do you tell someone what they feel is wrong?

Chapter Twelve
    After dropping Kellen off on the Upper East Side, I returned home. I walked into the apartment expecting to trip over shoes. When I didn’t, I hesitantly took off my Louboutins—now destroyed from their foray into the pool—and dropped my purse on the floor. It fell with a loud thunk where the gun met the carpet. At least the gun hadn’t gone swimming with me.
    The apartment still smelled of vampire, and I sighed. Sig had said he would take care of the Brigit situation for me. Stupid, unreliable vampire.
    “Brigit? Are you here?”
    Rio the kitten plodded over and started rubbing against my bare ankles again. If the kitten was here, the blonde vampire couldn’t be far. My vision had adjusted to the darkness, and though there was no one else in the room, it felt like I wasn’t alone.
    I shooed the kitten away with my foot, which seemed to please her because she began to purr. Hopefully Sig had fulfilled his promise about the power, because even though I could see in the dark, I didn’t necessarily want to live without light.
    I found the switch on the wall and flicked it up, expecting nothing. Instead, the room was flooded with warm light, and I could see my apartment for the first time since I’d gotten home. At least Sig had been true to his word on that point. There was still the matter of the vampire I smelled, though.
    “Brigit? Seriously, I’m getting annoyed. More than usual.”
    I moved towards my bedroom and started to think I was a little crazy. The smell must have just lingered from all the months she’d been living here, because Brigit wasn’t anywhere to be found. In my bedroom, the invitation of my bed was almost too strong to avoid. But first I needed to shower.
     
    Feeling