Bonus Scene 2
Breena
What a fecking gobshite.
Marek Nightshade was quite literally the only man in existence who needled under my skin. Like a splinter. And worse—he wasn’t even trying.
And it made me want to stab him all the more for it. Slice off his Ancient-damned balls and make them into a necklace he could wear to show everyone what a nutless bastard he was.
He stood a few paces away, arms folded, watching the others say their goodbyes before Kaden, Caelora, and Jace stepped through the portal. His ever-present quarterstaff was strapped diagonally to his back. I suppose it was more comfortable to carry it that way when you finally wore a bloody tunic.
The morning mist clung to him, the light gray material hugging every corded muscle. He’d started wearing them after the battle at Hallowed End, and he didn’t seem very pleased with it, his shoulders endlessly shifting under the fabric.
The dummy probably liked it that way. Making his own damn self uncomfortable and then brooding about it.
I’d met him many turns ago when Rhaegar recruited me, brought me to Helos for the first time.
Joining the Korax had given my life purpose, a calling I so badly needed.
Being an assassin for hire wasn’t exactly a glamorous life. But using my skills as a raven … it meant something more than quick coin and an ale at a pub.
The moment I met the man, with his chiseled, honed, bloody lickable—
Fecking void.
It was a mystery why Marek was extra twatty with me.
I huffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, trying not to give him the satisfaction of dragging my eyes over him. And his stupid tunic.
The clearing at the edge of the swamp was already half swallowed by fog. Seryn stood near the portal, her golden tattoos dim in the soft light, saying farewell. Kaden was smirking, Jace was scowling, and Caelora was pretending to ignore both of them.
Ah, bloody teamwork.
I eyed Jace, delighted to have a distraction for a moment. I’d let him teach me a thing or two.
It would be a shame if the three died on their journey.
“Have fun storming the mountain! Don’t fecking die.” I called out to them, waving lazily with one hand.
Kaden grinned and shot me a mock salute. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“Not bloody likely,” I shot back.
He loved me, that adorable, sad boy.
Like a fabulous, stabby sister, I was sure.
Caelora, ever the ice queen, gave the smallest nod before stepping into the swirling ring of amber light. I’d lure a smile out of her eventually.
Jace followed with the solemnity of a funeral procession. Then Kaden. The air pulsed, and then they were gone.
I sighed, leaning my hip against a moss-covered boulder. “There goes our entertainment.”
“Depends on what you call entertainment.”
The voice was unfamiliar but smooth as aged mead. I turned, hand twitching toward the dagger strapped to my thigh—then froze.
The man standing a few strides away was tall, bronzed, and dressed in ruddy leathers that clung to him like a second skin. His dark hair was tied at the nape of his neck, a few stray waves catching the light.
“They might die,” he said, moving closer to me.
“Commander Drakon Valyn, is it? I heard you were pretty, but this”—I waved my hand over his tattooed body—“is ridiculous.”
A healthy guffaw spilled from him, and he turned to me, a mischievous grin in its wake. “I’ve heard the same of you, Mistress Caddell, and the rumors are more than true. I’ve also heard that you hail from Pyria Island.”
“So, I’ve been told. And you may keep calling me ‘Mistress.’”
To the side, I sensed Marek’s gaze flick in our direction—sharp, fleeting, but there. Of course it was. He was about as subtle as a blade to the ribs.
Drakon’s eyes dropped briefly to the scars on my shoulder, where my tunic had slipped just enough to show the three pale ridges carved into my skin. Dream reaper marks. “You’ve seen the dark up close,” he murmured. “Still standing. Impressive.”
“Still stabbing,” I corrected. “Impressive is relative.”
Drakon leaned in, brushing my hair aside, and eyeing my Korax tattoo behind my ear. “What would you say if I said I have an interesting proposition for you? And that it would take you home?”
Marek’s frown burrowed deeper into the sharp angles of his face, his chest muscles ready to burst as his arms tightened against himself.
A laugh escaped me, soft but edged. “Is that so? What makes you think I’m looking to return to where my life began?”
“Everyone is,” he replied simply. “Even when they don’t know it.”
Something in the way he spoke twisted in my chest. Maybe it was the mention of home. Maybe it was the pull of adventure. Or maybe it was the heat rolling off him, brushing against the chilly space Marek always left behind.
My gaze slid to the male Nightshade again. He hadn’t moved; he still stood there, jaw set, eyes shadowed. His silence was screaming.
My pulse skipped, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “I’d say…” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “I’d say I’m interested.”
The words were for Drakon.
But the look was all for Marek.
Drakon dipped his head in a slow bow, eyes glinting. “Then we’ll talk soon.”
He turned and strode off into the fog, leaving a faint scent of bonfire and sea salt behind him.
For a heartbeat, the world went still. The sound of the swamp faded until there was only the slow, steady rhythm of Marek’s breathing behind me. I didn’t have to look to know his jaw was tight, hands fisted at his sides.
“What?” I said, voice low. “No lecture about strange offers? No broody warning?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me—dark, unreadable, devastatingly calm.
Then, quietly: “Do what you want, Breena.”
My eyes flashed at my name on his lips.
And he turned away.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the air sharp in my lungs. “Fecking gobshite,” I muttered.
My heart was still thundering as I stared at him, the mist swallowing his shape whole.
Then, softer, almost to myself, I said, “Interested, huh? Maybe I am.”
Whether I meant the offer—or the man who kept walking away—I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.