Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SERAFINA
C admus doesn’t give me the chance to answer any of those questions. Instead, he jerks his chin towards the largest tent near the perimeter of the clearing. The flickering flames cast strange patterns on the off-white fabric, creating shadowy monsters.
Our guards—because I really have no other word for them—guide us forward, their expressions ranging from confused to angry to irritated.
Rachelle, the gorgeous succubus, appears positively livid , her face beet-red and her eyes narrowed.
The night is so silent that I can hear each exhale Foster makes, the rapid pounding of Kian’s heart behind me, and the strange growling sound reverberating through Tristan’s chest. Every eye seems to be trained on us, unerringly so, and I find my palms dampening at being the center of so much attention.
When we reach the tent, Cadmus ducks inside, and Rachelle immediately moves to follow him.
He holds up a hand to stop her. “Rachelle, why don’t you go see what the cooks are making for dinner tonight?”
His voice is far gentler than I feel she deserves. I wouldn’t necessarily describe it as kind—there’s a sharp edge to it that can’t be dulled, the pointy end of a serrated blade—but some of the anger has dissolved from his eyes.
Rachelle looks as if she wants to protest but eventually blows out an irritated breath.
“Fine,” she huffs.
And, giving me a pointed look, wraps her fingers in Cadmus’s long hair and pulls his lips to hers in a possessive, claiming kiss.
I look away with a roll of my eyes.
Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if she peed on him next to assert her dominance.
I have enough men to deal with, thank you very much.
“Rachelle.” Cadmus’s voice is firm, and I turn back to see him pushing the woman away, his lips slightly swollen and his hair mussed from her fingers. “Go.”
Rachelle gives me another angry look before stalking away, her hips swaying, her tits bouncing. More than one eye strays towards her perfect body.
Fortunately, none of those eyes belong to my mates.
Cadmus’s lips purse as he stares after her, and I try to piece together their relationship. Obviously, they’re together, but it’s not love I see in his eyes when he stares at her.
I would best describe it as grudging acceptance. Annoyance. Irritation. Maybe even a little bit of lust, though even that is muted.
He doesn’t apologize for her, however, as he steps into the tent and gestures for us to follow him. One of the guards shoves at my shoulders to urge me forward.
Tristan whirls around and growls. “Touch her one more time and see what happens,” he warns.
I place a hand on his bicep and squeeze. “I’m fine, Trist,” I assure him. “Besides, if he truly hurt me, I can stab him myself.”
His eyes scan me from head to toe, as if checking for injuries that don’t exist, before he nods once, his jaw clenching. Still, he doesn’t relax his tense posture until the guards hurry away, leaving the four of us alone outside Cadmus’s tent.
Foster sidles up beside me and takes my hand in his. Heat rushes through me where we connect, and I have no idea if it’s because of his powers or the fact that we’re quite literally soulmates. My stomach fizzes and whirls madly.
“What’s the plan, Lost?” he whispers, making sure to keep his voice low enough so no one but the four of us will overhear. “Do we tell him where we’re from? Why we’re here?”
I consider Foster’s questions carefully, balancing the pros and cons of each option. But I know even before I speak what my answer will be.
“We tell him the truth,” I say firmly. “We want answers, and I have a feeling he’ll open up to us if we do the same for him. Nothing is more important than saving V’s life and saving Gage.”
I’ll give him my fucking eyeball if he asks for it.
Tristan shifts from foot to foot. “Are you sure we can trust him?” He absently rubs at his thigh—one of the places he was injured, though I don’t see any visible wound, thank god. “We didn’t exactly have an amazing meet-cute.”
I snort at his phrasing. “What’s more meet-cute than a vicious battle?”
“Not being in a vicious battle, for one,” Kian interjects. He forks his fingers through his tousled gold hair. “But if you think we should trust him, I’ll follow your lead.” His lips curve downwards into a sharp, cutting frown. “But I don’t trust that succubus farther than I can throw her.”
“You could probably throw her pretty far,” Tristan teases. “She’s tiny. You're big.”
Kian rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t trust her.” Darkness briefly flits across his expression, and his gaze cuts to me, hardening. “I don’t like how she attempted to seduce my mate.”
A strange mixture of possessiveness, protectiveness, and jealousy permeates his tone. It sends a shooting thrill through me.
“Your mate was able to fight off her seduction.” I give him a tiny grin. “Pretty badass, right?”
His eyes soften, and he reaches for one of my pink curls and pulls it between his fingers like it’s a piece of silk he yearns to purchase. “How about we just stay clear of evil succubi from now on, okay?”
I know he’s thinking of Ms. Summers and all she put him through.
An irrational burst of anger shoots through me, and I’m pretty sure I would stab Rachelle if she were still here. I shouldn’t judge all succubi based on the actions of one, but it’s hard. Really, really hard, especially when I see the trauma my mates endured painted across every line of their faces.
“Agree.” Tristan’s voice is darker than I’ve ever heard it before.
I have to wonder if seeing Rachelle—a succubus in her element—conjured up any demons for him. He’s been doing so much better the last couple of days. I would hate for him to relapse because of the errant actions of a bitchy woman.
I should’ve stabbed her when I had the chance.
“Are you four coming?” Cadmus leans against the front pillar of the tent with his arms folded over his chest. “I know it’s mighty difficult to understand how entryways work, but usually, you step through them.”
I exchange a glance with first Kian, then Tristan, and finally Foster, resolve reflected on all of our faces.
Whatever it takes.
I pivot on my heel to face Cadmus and offer him a sugary-sweet smile.
“I was just waiting for my formal invitation.” I step forward with my mates directly behind me.
Cadmus watches us with an amused, slightly curious smirk on his face. The tent, like the camp itself, is barren, with only a single cot against the far wall and a large table near the other. On the table rests maps, ledgers, notebooks, and ancient tomes that look seconds from falling apart, the paper brittle and yellow. This isn’t just the tent of some random fae, but that of a warrior. A leader.
I remain standing as I cross my arms over my chest. Flickering candlelight creates eerie, ominous shadows on the billowy tent walls.
“I’m here. Let’s talk,” I say firmly.
Cadmus smiles.