Chapter 27
N eela was halfway up the stairs to the den’s great room when Drea nearly bowled her over on the staircase.
“Oh my God, he let you out! Thank goodness!” The bubbly blond threw her arms around Neela’s neck, and Rhode had to steady both of them from behind lest they each kiss the granite.
Though, like the angel would let anyone break their neck on his watch?
“Your legs are too long. Seriously.” Neela squeezed back.
“A blessing and a curse. That’s why Chrome had to triple-check the leg-room specs on my car before I got it.”
“Smart man.” Neela pulled away but couldn’t miss the grunt that Rhode tried to disguise with a throat clear.
The angel was as silent as a cemetery most of the time, so whenever he made accidental noises, there was usually very little accident behind them. Once they sorted out the mess with her sire, she’d turn her attention to Rhode and Chrome’s mess of a relationship.
The tension between the two of them was killing her, not to mention the guilt.
Drea leaned over Neela’s shoulder and narrowed her death stare at Rhode. “Did you sort your shit out? Because if I need to grab the other girls so we can start voting on everyone’s actions and formally turn this den into a democracy, so help me God, Rhode, I’ll do it. I don’t care how long you’ve been alive. You cannot treat people like that without talking first. Like adults . You know, grown-ass organisms with smartphones and fully developed cerebral cortexes who are more than capable of intelligent discourse. You cannot just take a woman, who is clearly a victim in her own right, not believe her , and throw her into some padded cell while other grown-ass organisms decide her fate all because they happen to have wings and penises!”
“Drea,” Rhode warned.
“No, don’t Drea me on this.” She turned and, thankfully, unclogged the stairwell bottleneck so they could all move. “I’ve never pulled the patient-caregiver card before, but I thought you and I had a connection. Or at least some sort of understanding.”
Her arms were waving over her head, and Neela thought it best to join Molly when the brunette rolled her eyes and patted the vacant spot next to her on one of the farmhouse table benches. It wasn’t a hard decision. The girl was offering solidarity, snacks, and a front-row seat, so, yeah . . .
“Drea,” Rhode said a bit more forcefully.
“I can’t believe you scared her like that, scared anyone like that, to be honest. I mean, it’s not like this den isn’t full of people with their own bags full of problems. I challenge you to find one person in here who hasn’t made at least one questionable decision in their life. But you know what? We talk about our shit—we talk, therapy up, atone if needed, forgive where we can, and move the fuck on with our day because life’s too short to treat people like garbage.”
“Drea!”
“What?” she yelled, then spun around to the room full of people with eyebrows scraping the ceiling. But those violet eyes didn’t truly widen until they finally got a good look at Neela’s appearance. Drea squinted, then lolled her head to the side. “Why are you wearing Rhode’s sweats?”
Neela was holding a sour cream and onion chip poised above her tongue when everyone’s focus shifted to her. Rhode walked over and, intent on answering the question for her, pushed down the cuff of the sweatshirt she’d borrowed— his sweatshirt—lifted her wrist to the room, and let his name on her skin speak for itself.
Silence wasn’t a foreign concept to Neela. If there had been a soundtrack to her life thus far, it would have featured one giant staccato stretch of her lone footsteps, punctuated here and there with video game scores and YouTube song parodies. But the silence that stole the breath of every single pair of lungs in that room was some truly blackhole-worthy shit.
Iron’s eyes flashed topaz before he blinked it away. “Excuse me.” Without another word, the massive angel chucked his beer can in the recycling bin—because, yes, apparently even immortal angels still recycled—and stormed off down the hall.
She barely had time to ask what was going on before the room erupted. Titan and Tungsten stood, exchanged some unspoken words of understanding, and, after seeing Rhode smile and kiss Neela’s tattoo, flew into a riot of back-slapping congratulations. Rose and Tammy, twin sisters and soul bonds to Titan and Tungsten, hugged each other, while Steel ran to the kitchen, grabbed a verdant-green bottle from a separate fridge, and started pulling down champagne flutes. Bronze and Brass went to the pantry.
Chrome was nowhere to be found.
Molly gave Neela the good old side hug and offered her the bag of chips. “You’d be surprised at how well these puppies pair with champagne. There’s something about the combo of high acidity and salt that just hits.”
“I hadn’t realized this was such a cause for celebration.” Neela grabbed some chips and quickly threw them into her mouth so she didn’t have to answer questions she didn’t know how to navigate.
Drea stalked up to Rhode, never once breaking stride as the prime sentinel and second-in-command parted for her like she was royalty.
Which, in a lot of ways, she was. Neela hadn’t realized it at first, but after knowing what Rhode had been through, who he’d suffered through it for, and what Drea had to do to reach him and pull at least small parts of him back from whatever brink of despair they’d been teetering on was truly awe-inspiring.
It was a feat Neela had yet to accomplish, despite wearing the trappings of the soul bond title.
A hollowness bloomed beneath her breastbone, and she wished she could crawl into the chip bag for the surface-level comfort that would greet her there. Jeez, could she be any more of an imposter? A dupe adorned with proverbial diamonds who had been lifted onto some pedestal because of how she’d magically reformed the angels’ scarred seraph while—oh, hey, look—also turning out to be one of the nice demons.
Meanwhile, Drea had been the true queen in all of this, and as Rhode gripped Drea’s elbow and whispered into her ear what Neela sincerely hoped was a whole lot of sentences that started with I’m sorry , she had to remind herself that this was right. This was good. She wanted him to have loving, meaningful relationships with his family. He deserved no less.
Then why did it hurt so much?
“Thank you, everyone,” Rhode said quietly, bowing his appreciation. “It has been . . .”
Neela’s hand froze, suspended in the air between her mouth and the chip bag. It had been, what? Exhausting? Raw? Enjoyable and convenient? What was she to him? Did he even know?
Did she?
Ugh, all the questions were about to make her eyes twitch, and for the first time since these people had welcomed her into their lives, she wondered whether she wasn’t better off in her old life where all she had to do to combat her discomfort was sign off and close out a game.
Meanwhile, Rhode grabbed the back of his neck and seemed to root around to find the right words to finish whatever proclamation was obviously expected of him.
When he finally did find the words, Neela was reminded why she wished he hadn’t.
“It has been a journey, to say the least. One I am much further along on than hours ago, thanks to Neela.” Rhode grabbed her hand, and for a moment, she thought he was going to hold her fist high like she’d just won a knockout round in boxing. Instead, he slid close to her, rested a hip on the edge of the table, and threaded his fingers with hers.
Neela’s cheeks heated, and she tried her best to fade away behind Rhode.
Thankfully, Titan, ever the elder statesman of the group, wasn’t one to let festivities linger for too long without getting down to business. Neela didn’t know the angel that well, but she suspected he took great delight in wrangling the group back in. That and probably reminding everyone when last call was if they ever went out to get drinks among the mortals. Maybe even organized the bar tabs for the group. She wanted to kiss the angel for the much-appreciated change in focus.
“Unfortunately, we’ve lost the element of surprise when it comes to the charmers. Cyro knows that not only are we now aware of his location but also that Neela is with us.”
“He doesn’t know that I can command angel fire, nor does he know the extent of my metallic capabilities.”
Tungsten folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not entirely sure the rest of us know either, my friend. Will you share with us?”
The soft encouragement on the prime sentinel’s face was the most trusting comfort Neela had ever seen called into action. Dear Lord, he was like a golden retriever but one trained for service duties. If she ever had someone look at her with the sort of neutral hope Tungsten looked at Rhode with, she wouldn’t hesitate to spill her entire life to them, as well as come up with some bonus stories just to make sure the deal was fair.
God, this family loved Rhode. They really did.
Neela’s heart skipped a beat and then nearly exploded when Rhode squeezed her hand. It wasn’t a pulse of persuasion or a press of reassurance. It was something else. Something . . . hesitant?
Curious, Neela looked up, but the stiff set of Rhode’s shoulders and the bob of his Adam’s apple answered her question. He was nervous. Did he . . . did he need her?
But when her soul bond’s flare fluttered to life inside her, she had the answer in spades.
Yes.
And she didn’t delay in delivering her answer.
I’m right here. Neela leaned her shoulder against him, hid their joined hands between their bodies, squeezed back, and held it. Held it for as long as needed, which wasn’t nearly as long as she’d feared.
“It is . . . a long story.” Rhode sighed.
Then several things happened at once. Glasses stopped clinking, chips stopped crunching, and butts found seats as Rhode recounted, in only as much detail as absolutely necessary, the intention of Cyro’s experimentation plan on him. The mechanics of his metallic power. The anticorrosive elements. How, despite the harm he’d suffered mentally, that physically Rhode couldn’t be harmed by the same dark magic the demon leader had used on the rest of the sentinels. Neela’s heart bled as, for the second time that day, he had to rip open wounds that had only just begun to even flirt with the healing process, let alone get on a first-name basis with the idea.
When it was over and Rhode had squeezed out every last drop of willpower so that he might finally face his brothers again, he lifted his head. What greeted him was a room full of family, standing shoulder to shoulder, with mates hugging mates, and either tears or swirls of angel fire lighting the eyes of those staring back at him.
It was a family who loved him. A family who mourned with him and for him, a family who fought for him.
A family who would die for him.
The sharp tsss of a beer can tab popping open broke the spell over the assembled party. Iron stood behind Rhode and held the beer out to him. Rhode accepted it but not before the giant angel’s smile lifted the corners of his russet beard.
The grin was equal parts mirth and menace, relief over a bridge finally crossed and a new leg of the race to head into.
Iron clapped Rhode on the shoulder. “Let’s do this, brother.”