Page 84 of The Vixen

Greasemonkey674:Where are you going for business?

I start typing:Chicago. I’m working Wed-Fri, but if you have free time over the weekend… I would love to

“What are you doing?”

The chair rolls backward as I bolt upright, hands snapping away from the keyboard. Eyes wide, spine straight—I might as well have my cock in my hand.

Luna watches me from the entryway with her hair fanned around her shoulders and her hands hung at her sides. If she flipped on the light, she’d look like her pissed off self. Behind the glow of the computer screen, she’s a ghost.

“Fuck.” Hand to my chest, I try to laugh. “You scared me.”

Her arms sway as she storms to the desk and twists the laptop, face brightening in the cold glow of the screen. “Who are you talking to?”

“Iris…”

“Who isIris?”

She looks at me like I’m waiting beneath a streetlight with my hands tucked inside a trenchcoat. Borderline dramatic.

When I don’t respond within the half second allotment, she returns her attention to the computer. I arch my neck to watch her log out of the chat, then hurry to check the VPN. Once she sees that it’s secure, she lets out a deep sigh.

Her eyes close as she leans against the desk; massages her temples. I reach over to flip on the lamp before the computer goes dark.

“You can’t be in here by yourself… Someone is to supervise you at all times.”

“Why?” I expect a glare, but Luna’s eyes never open. She looks tired, her face sunken as she rubs away tension. It’s the middle of the night … but it’s more than that. “You have this thing locked down like an overprotective parent. Someone is constantly watching the screen. What are you afraid of?”

She doesn’t answer.

I count to ten… still nothing.

“I figured you’d stay with Thorne tonight.” I pick at the edge of the desk. “Was he mad?”

Air puffs from her nose in a short burst. “What do you think?”

My nail carves a thin slit in the wood—one strip of light brown to blemish the dark mahogany. “I don’t suppose we’ll be picking up our earlier conversation…”

No response.

Wood digs beneath my nail as I carve another crack. I twist my thumb at the base and drag the line sideways into an L.

Luna’s hand clasps over mine.

“I have something for you.”

As her touch leaves, I rest my arms on the chair and swivel to face her. The leather of her black jacket squeaks as she reaches inside and pulls out an envelope.

She sets it on the desk in front of me.

One brow raising, I give the envelope a few shakes. Four sharp corners tap with every twist of the envelope. A piece of paper. “What’s this?”

Luna doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even meet my eyes.

My stomach sinks.

Angel.

Luna busies herself taking off her jacket while I rip open the envelope. My fingers tremble as I reach inside. There’s a pause before I pull it out, like I’m trying to stretch the final second before everything changes. The slow walk to the door where uniformed officers await. The moment of silence before a mortician pulls back the blanket.