Chapter 13 The Present
The crows never leave.
They’re still there the next morning.
And the morning after that.
And the morning after that.
At this point I’m ninety percent sure they’ve unionized.
Everything that was haunting us before is still haunting us now, just…
politely. Like it actually heard us and gave us a sick week.
It plays perfectly into my men’s coaxing for me to relax, so I let it.
I keep pretending that if I don’t make eye contact with the cosmic horror looming above my head, it doesn’t exist.
I’m perfecting the art of denial, and frankly? Fuck it. It’s treating me beautifully so far.
The guys treat me beautifully, too.
Better than beautifully.
One morning, after Talon fucks me into the mattress hard enough that I forget my own name for a solid sixty seconds, I finally stagger downstairs in search of water, dignity, or maybe a second round.
The hospital’s ground floor is half shadows, half mid-morning light, and smells faintly of disinfectant and coffee.
I collapse onto the couch and melt into the cushions.
Cassian’s already there, shirtless, carving vegetables at the kitchenette. When he notices me, he silently crosses the room, pours me coffee, pours one for himself, and goes back to the workstation.
His version of affection is deadly stillness, and I’ve grown addicted to it.
I’ve also grown addicted to how danger looks on him. How a knife becomes an extension of his hand. How he wears lethality so naturally it’s toe-curling.
He glances at me sideways. “Hungry?”
“Maybe,” I say slowly, draping my arm over the back of the couch like a lazy cat in heat. “Depends what you’re offering to feed me.”
The smallest flicker touches the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw works—once, twice—before he lifts his eyes to me.
That look alone is a felony.
“You know what I want to feed you.”
Oh, I do. And I want it. And suddenly every vertebra in my back forgets gravity and turns into something molten.
I have to bury the pathetic little laugh that threatens to escape, coughing into my fist like a child. Cassian may be made of ice and bloodlust, but the instant something cracks through that armor? I drop straight through the floor like I’ve been trapdoored through my own ribcage.
“Do I?” I tilt my head, goading him gently. “Because I’ve been sitting here for some time, and you’re still over there. If you want to feed me, Cas, maybe you should—”
He’s already halfway decided. I can feel it in the subtle shift of weight in his stance, the widening of his shoulders, the way his gaze drags over me. He’s about to move—
—and then Nathaniel strolls in.
He’s wearing all black. Calm as a funeral procession. A slim backpack slung over one shoulder like he’s either going hiking or disposing of a body, which with him, could genuinely swing either direction.
“Have you told her yet?” he asks, looking directly at Cassian.
Cassian exhales. The knife pauses mid-slice, blade resting against the cutting board. His eyes flick up to Nathaniel’s.
“Not yet.”
I push myself upright. “Told me what?”
Nathaniel drops the canvas bag he’s been holding onto the counter.
You see, for days now, I’ve been catching them exchanging glances—those half-second looks when they thought I wasn’t watching.
I told myself it was nothing. That they were still adjusting to…
us. To the strange, fragile thing we’ve become.
Or maybe the looks were about something in their pasts.
Trauma. Secrets. Men like them have enough of both.
But the way Nathaniel’s gaze hardens now, it hits me:
They were hiding something from me.
“What is it?” I ask.
Cassian wipes the blade with a dish towel and sets it down. Then, he turns.
“We have a surprise for you.”
It takes only those six words to turn my bloodstream cold.
Because they are not ‘surprise’ people. There’s no confetti with them. No balloons. No laughter bursting out of a closet followed by a camera flash. Their brand of “surprise” is made of blood and consequences.
The last time someone “surprised” me, I found out the universe is about to be crawling with more wraiths.
Before that, the surprise involved my bones being carved up.
And before that… I was “gifted” to a monster with a bow on top, courtesy of my loving ex-husband, whose present to me was my later execution.
So no. Surprise is not a word that stirs delight in my nervous system.
“What kind of surprise.” My voice is flat.
I stare between them, jaw tight, waiting for the trap to appear.
It was so nice between us. So nice.
Why do they ruin it?
Nathaniel is the first to move. He drags the zipper of the backpack down in one slow, deliberate pull. Paper. Folders. Thick stacks, corner tabs, legal notations. A flash drive. Another binder. He takes them and lays them down in front of me on the table.
My skin prickles.
I’m only more confused.
“Mark,” Nathaniel says, plainly.
The name makes my chest tighten.
Mark.
“We’ve been gathering intel,” Cassian says. “It started when you were out for three days. Since then, someone’s been on it whenever they could. When you were… otherwise occupied.”
Otherwise occupied. My face heats. Am I hearing this right? All those nights when my hands weren’t empty, they were working on Mark?
“What do you mean by that?” I whisper.
“Well, nothing too serious.” Cassian tilts his head. “Just getting his schedule down. His accounts. His new wife. Jessica, right?”
The world lurches. “You… you’ve been—”
Cassian cuts me off, stepping forward, scarred chest rising and falling.
“It’s just a proposal to you,” he says. “We haven’t done anything. Yet.”
Nathaniel’s gaze flicks to me.
“We’re going to dismantle him,” he says. “Piece by piece. First we’ll scare him. Then we will break his control. Torture him. Then—” His shoulders roll in a casual shrug that makes my stomach knot. “If you still want it, we’ll put him in the ground.”
Wow. Just… wow.
Guess that explains why the guys kept coming back with new scratches lately. They’d said they were fighting the crows, but apparently, it went deeper than that. They’d been leaving our bunker and slipping off to that perfect little suburb with picket fences and one particular willow tree.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around it when Talon strolls in, shirtless, hair a mess, a heap of weapons in his arms. A crowbar, a taser, and something that looks suspiciously like bolt cutters clatter onto the counter beside Nathaniel’s neat stacks of paper.
“What’s with the long face?” he asks. “Did the guys tell you yet?”
I gape at him.
“Yeah, we told her,” Nathaniel says.
“And what? You’re not excited?” Talon frowns. “Thought you’d be over the moon.”
Cassian picks up one of the folders Nathaniel laid out and drops it into my lap. Pages fan out. Printed emails, financial records, photos. Photos of him. Mark in his perfect suit, smiling with perfect teeth; Jessica at his side, her arm looped through his.
My stomach clenches so hard I think I’ll vomit.
I stare at the glossy print of Mark’s practiced smile until my vision blurs. He looks untouched. Unhaunted.
My throat burns.
“I mean, yeah… I asked you guys to do it once.”
“Yeah,” Talon supplies. “And now—uff, Skye.” He licks his lips. “Now we’re itching to do it.”
“We figured you wouldn’t disappear if he dies,” Nathaniel says. “Death wants you here to handle the wraith business, and Pain isn’t even with you, which should mean your Grim Reaper side is disconnected from the you here and now.”
“Maybe you’d even become human through and through if we kill him,” Cassian adds.
“Yeah. We could fix it all for you.” Talon’s voice goes soft and dangerous. “So—what do you say?”
What do I say? The need for revenge burns so hot inside me I sometimes think it’s the only thing keeping my body stitched together. But the folders on the counter, the weapons clattering as they shift, the three of them watching me like wolves waiting for a signal—
I don’t know whether I’m more terrified or more grateful. Whatever it is, it’s deep. It’s loud.
“I…” My voice cracks. I swallow hard. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” Talon’s grin is sharp and feral; he leans his hip against the counter. “Say you want him shredded. Say you want his perfect little suburban kingdom pissed on, brick by brick, until he’s begging for death.”
“We could do that,” Nathaniel says.
“We want to,” Cassian corrects automatically.
The papers stare up at me: Mark smiling, Jessica at his side, her hand tucked to his chest, her face soft with happiness. Happiness he stole from me.
I’m back at the willow, watching him with the shovel, brushing dirt over my grave like yesterday’s trash. I’m back in that house, the walls closing in, his voice calm and cruel while he told me it was my fault. Everything was always my fault.
My nails dig into the couch cushion. I know that if I release these hounds, they won’t stop. They will finish him.
I look at them—my men. Murderers. Monsters.
Monsters offering me justice.
Oh, if Mark only knew I’m holding his fate between my fingers. If he could see that I’m cared for by men far scarier than Duvall or any political leash he imagines.
My breath hitches.
The power in my chest is heavy and cold. Not the kind Pain wields, but dark enough to feel like its own weapon.
“Tell me everything,” I say. “How do you want to do it?”
Talon’s grin is all teeth. “We’ll take our time. Strip him clean of everything he thinks makes him strong. Nathaniel’s got his accounting books copied. We could throw him in prison tomorrow, but I think…” He twirls the crowbar like a baton and lets it clatter down. “Slow is better, no?”
“He’s running double accounts for his clients,” Nathaniel adds, matter-of-fact. “Shell companies. Fraud layered through half his portfolio.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That tracks with what he did five years ago.”
“Clearly, he hasn’t evolved.”