In the morning, Luna was nervous about leaving the tower with him, did she really believe that he would let them decide for him, especially in this matter? He could choose every girl he wished, could claim her, and have her.
He dismounted and marched to the tower, the pain on his shoulder was wholly gone and the poison no longer was surging in his blood.
Ascending the stairs, he saw Natasha and Eliot. She grinned at that flourished face until her eyes grasped a stain of blood on his left cuff.
"Did you itch her?"
Wilmore shook his head, "Bryant itched her dog! And I dispatched the assassins she brought with her."
Eliot's eyes drifted on the window and flashed there, when it was about blood, he couldn't help his curiosity.
"You meant that he severed his wrist!"
Wilmore shrugged in coldness, not even a single moment he regretted what they did, unlike that he was filled with joy.
"Well deserved, that bastard was pricking my nerves."
