Chapter 20
TWENTY
EMMA
My life had taken a nosedive into the absurd.
First, someone bubbled in the US. Rude.
Then someone tried to have me arrested for terrorism. Ruder.
Then they killed my parents—which wasn’t rude so much as it was firmly in the realm of capital-letter Evil, with a side of “congratulations, you’ve just guaranteed your own execution.”
Then I got abducted and tossed into a cellar. Didn’t even get the courtesy of a dungeon.
Then the United Chiefs decided to spice things up by threatening everyone I loved if I didn’t marry my ex. Great timing, considering I’d been drooling over someone else like a shameless harlot with zero self-control.
Then humans stormed into the Magi World like they were cosplaying as the FBI and tried to arrest me.
My head felt like it was about to explode. Which, honestly, would be on-brand at this point.
Those were my spiraling thoughts while Rachel continued her meeting in the War Room. “The United Chiefs nexed me earlier today to ask how far we’ve gotten to find the idiot magus who helped humans impose the bubble.”
“Are we any closer to finding the location where they imbue the bubble with more translation?” Rachel asked, tapping her pen against her notebook like she was about to crack a code only she cared about.
I wanted to care about her mission.
Only problem? I didn’t. At all.
We all knew the Collabs were behind the bubble. Nobody knew where they were operating from, nobody knew who their leader was, and honestly, I had enough on my plate without adding track down mystery terrorists to my to-do list.
Like, hello? Work–life balance?
Rachel plowed on without noticing my blank stare. “I had Hillary check the edge of the bubble, see if she could figure out anything about its translation pattern. She thinks whoever bubbled the entire country must be at least ten cycles old.”
That snagged my attention. “Ten cycles? I thought most magi gave up life after three or four?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Whoever they are…they’re old. Old and powerful.”
I glanced quickly at Caden, then James. They both had the same thought written all over their faces: the Elder was dead. Right?
When no one had anything left to add, Rachel wrapped up the meeting by…scheduling yet another team meeting later that week.
When I’d agreed to “play soldier” for her, I hadn’t realized it came with mandatory death by PowerPoint.
After the meeting, we ended up crowded into the kitchen of Arbor Hall, shoveling down whatever vaguely edible food we weren’t too tired to translate.
Rachel was perched close to Caden, her smile lingering a little too long as the two of them carried on a conversation the rest of us weren’t invited to.
Not conversing. Flirting was more like it.
Conversing implied there was no ulterior motive, only a casual exchange of words. But the way she angled her body, the way she tilted her head enough to make her neck look longer, the way she subtly toyed with her hair like she was in a godsdamn shampoo commercial? Yeah, that shit was flirting.
Not that I didn’t get it. She was talking to a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of an Enemies-to-Lovers: Mafia Edition romance novel. Dark, intense, and way too aware of the effect he had on people.
Everyone else was still in their Offensive gear, fresh from the border after battle.
But not Mr. Colt. No, he’d somehow found the time to shower, throw on black slacks and a white shirt—collar open, naturally—like he came straight from a photoshoot instead of a godsdamn war.
Though my mind wasn’t solely preoccupied with his good looks.
No, my traitorous thoughts kept dragging me back to the woods. To the way he’d been there without pressing, guiding me without smothering, letting me teeter on the edge of my own darkness and somehow holding the line steady anyway.
Then to the way he’d backed me against Rachel.
And fuck me, that shit did something to me.
“Yer looking a little flushed there, Thompson. Something ye wanna share?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Sean’s grin widened.
Crap. He’d caught me staring at his best friend. Obviously.
“No idea what you mean,” I said stiffly.
Sean leaned back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes glinted with amusement. “Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced.
“Drop it.”
“I mean,” he drawled, “if ye want to talk about it—”
“Drop it, Sean.”
“Talk about all those warm mushy feelings ye have—”
“I will slit your throat,” I said, my voice low and dangerous.
He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “I’m sure ye will.”
I snatched the nearest piece of bread and launched it at his head.
He ducked with insulting ease, laughter spilling out as it smacked harmlessly against the wall.
“Missed,” he said, grinning like an idiot.
My vision narrowed. “Next time, I’m aiming for your dick.”
His grin only widened. “Big enough target to hit. Even for ye.”
I flipped him off without looking back, already moving toward the door.
My steps were clipped, and I barely made it a few steps out of kitchen before someone grabbed me, and yanked me into an abandoned room.
The door slammed shut behind us, James’s grip releasing but his presence still pressing in close.
“We need to talk,” he growled, while vibrating with barely checked anger.
I arched a brow, already bracing for the lecture. “Then by all means, talk.”
He closed the distance in two steps, and on instinct I edged back.
“You’ve been shutting out your grief for weeks,” he bit out. “Burying every dark emotion, instead of dealing with it like a godsdamn adult.”
I snorted and flicked my hand.
A solid stone translated into his palm. His hard expression faltered for a second, caught off guard.
I shrugged. “Seemed like you were about to throw some stones in this glass house you’ve built. Thought I’d get you started.”
The muscle in his jaw ticked once before he translated the rock away with a snap. “You think I’m joking about this? I’m serious, Emma. You can’t keep bottling this shit up until it spills out of you in the middle of a fucking battlefield.”
I crossed my arms, my glare clashing with his. “How I cope with my emotions is none of your business.”
“The hell it is!” he snapped. “It is when your way of coping means strangling every human who so much as breathes wrong in your direction.”
I rolled my eyes. “My gods, James. I strangled one person. And he’s not even dead. I mean…he might wheeze a bit every time he climbs a flight of stairs now, but that feels more like character development than manslaughter.”
James blinked, disbelief flickering across his face. “How can you be so cavalier about this? This is not who you are.”
For a beat my old self threatened to catapult us both into another war of retorts and insults, but I forced myself to breathe slow, counting under my ribs until the hot buzz dulled.
When I spoke my voice was steadier than I felt. “I know you mean well. But you don’t get to dictate how I grieve, James.”
He stilled at that, the fury flickering into something quieter. “I know I’m the last person who should teach you about handling darkness. My rage haze still eats me alive half the time, and I’m sixty-five thousand shades of disappointment.”
I opened my mouth to counter, but he held up a hand, stopping me cold.
“But that’s not you,” he said, softer now, almost pleading. “You’re light, Emma. You’re bright. You’re everything I’m not. And I can’t—” his voice cracked, barely, “I can’t let you go down my path.”
He had no idea. He had no idea who I was anymore. Nor was he ready to acknowledge it.
Grow some balls and talk to the guy.
Caden’s words suddenly rang in my head, blunt and impossible to ignore.
I turned away and walked to the window, palms flat against the cool glass. “You and me fighting about this, isn’t helping,” I said, each word measured. “We need to talk about more than just what happened today.”
“Yes. We do,” he answered, his tone dry.
I pivoted back toward him. James stood a few feet away, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a fight, but his eyes were kind—waiting.
I shifted my weight, wishing the floor would swallow me. “Not exactly our strong suit.”
He snorted. “I think we can manage one chat without it escalating.”
I forced a thin smile. “So far, not the best start.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s just…not be defensive.”
His head tilted. “You saying I’m defensive?”
My jaw dropped. “Oh my gods, James—”
He chuckled, almost softly. “Emma, relax, I’m kidding.”
I blinked, then huffed out a small laugh. “Okay, yeah. You got me.”
The corner of his mouth curved, that old smile flickering across his face like a ghost. Once, I’d lived for that smile. Could I really do that again?
“So. Our talk.”
I nodded, pushing the words out before I could lose my nerve. “We need a plan. A way to deal with the Chiefs. I know things have been…weird between us. But I loved you once, and maybe—maybe we could… I don’t know.”
The words clawed at my throat, every nerve screaming to keep them locked inside.
My mouth went dry, my chest tightening like my body itself wanted to reject them.
I had to force them past my lips, because if this was what it took to protect everyone I loved, then I didn’t have a choice.
But it was almost impossible to ignore how much I didn’t want to.
James’s chin lifted, suspicion flashing across his face. “Are you suggesting we should get back together?”
I shrugged, pretending at nonchalance I didn’t feel. “I don’t think we have much choice in the matter.”
He went still. His fists curled at his sides, chest rising with one breath, then another. When his gaze found mine, there was no anger, only hurt. “Do you really think this is how I wanted you to give me another chance?”
I opened my mouth and closed it, the room tilting for a second. “I know it’s not ideal…” I let the rest trail off.