Chapter 39 Aurora #4
“Be careful what you wish for, little vixen. Also, we may have to explore this exhibition kink a little further. But for now, let’s deal with Iain, then go home,” he says, resting his chin on top of my head.
And honestly? Nothing sounds better.
When we open the door, the wrakh and the hound greet us in the foyer with their arms crossed and their faces twisted into annoyed snarls.
“This isn’t some sort of sex club, Ezra. This is my fucking home. Have some respect!” Iain screams.
“Are they like this all the time?” Iain spins to Louie with an exasperated look on his face.
“Uh, yeah. It’s actually worse at Ezra’s house, but at least there I have my headphones. Christ, I bet the whole town heard you.”
Ezra presses in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His shadows follow, curling around my hips, smokey little monsters echoing the gentle touch of my ancient Grim.
When he chuckles, they ripple against my skin. Even they find this funny.
“Apologies to both of you. I find I have trouble controlling myself when it comes to Aurora.” He turns to me, heat in his eyes and mischief curling at the edges of his mouth. “To be fair, I asked you to be quiet, darling. You’re the one who couldn’t stop screaming my name,” Ezra jokes.
I pull his clasped hands apart and wiggle out of his arms.
He pouts in the most adorable way, making me want to shove him back into that powder room and fall to my knees.
“Did Iain get you sorted out, Lou?” I ask hopefully.
“Not exactly,” Louie responds shyly, her face burning bright red.
Something happened while we were in the powder room, but I won’t press the issue.
She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
“The wee hound just needs time. Everything is there and workin’ properly; she just needs to work through her initial training again. Lots of meditation and practice. Should be right as rain.”
Iain’s gaze slips to Louie as she taps her foot impatiently on the carpet runner, kicking up years of dust.
Louie looks pissed, but Iain just looks like a lovestruck wrakh ready to commit violent atrocities if it made the tiny hellhound smile.
“The grumpy prick suggested we practice together. He said we might progress faster that way.” Louie shoots Iain a look of pure disdain.
The eddies flicker in amusement. One of them slithers toward Louie’s foot, but she catches it mid-air, swatting at it like a misbehaving puppy.
“Piss off, you little shadow creep,” she mutters.
The shadow retreats, absolutely delighted by her frustration.
The wrakh, however, looks completely unbothered. He grins as if getting decked an hour ago was a flirtation and blows Louie a kiss.
The tension between them crackles, threatening to burn Iain’s already cursed house to the ground.
Which, considering the state of it, might not be the worst thing to happen.
Eventually, Iain comes back to reality and somehow seems even angrier than when we first arrived.
“Fuckin’ hell. I know you’re here for more than a magical drum circle, so out with it, you shadowed piece of shit.”
There’s the charming prick I know.
“Fucking second sight,” Ezra mumbles under his breath. “I need protection wards placed on my property to keep Aurora … and
Louie … safe.”
Ezra knows exactly where to press.
“Yeah, fine. I’ll come over tomorrow evening to put those up. You lookin’ for warning shots or shoot-on-sight wards? I can do either,” Iain says in a bored tone.
“We just want to know if someone is on the property, right?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
I don’t want to hurt anyone. What if someone wanders through there by accident?
“Yes, Aurora. You’re correct. Between the three of us, we should be able to take down just about anything that poses a threat.
And I don’t want to mess around with clearing bodies from my property because of a magical mishap,” Ezra says, totally unfazed, as if body disposal is part of his morning routine.
“Ah, you’re no fun, Ez!” Iain exclaims. “Where’s the bloodlust from our first meetin’ gone?”
Ezra smirks, but before he can answer, his shadows move with slow, deliberate intent, coiling around me in silent accusation.
Iain snorts. “Oh, is that right? Blamin’ the missus for makin’ you soft?”
He leans forward, smirking. “Can’t say I blame ya. Gettin’ your dick wet’ll do that.”
The eddies lash out in a blur of shadows, the supernatural equivalent of “Run that back, motherfucker?”
“Aww, did I hurt the wriggly little gobshites’ feelings?” he grumbles, swatting at them. “Ez, get your wee beasties in check before I hex them into submission.”
We move into the kitchen, the shadows slinking ahead like they own the place.
Iain skips the pleasantries. When it comes to digging through secrets, he’s the kind of asshole who spits on his hand, calls it good enough, and makes you say thank you after.
He barely gives us time to sit before muttering, “We’ll get to the little blackbird in a second.”
Iain crosses his arms, stares at the floor for a beat, then sniffs like something soured in his brain.
“I assume there’s more going on than Daughters and hellhounds and unruly magic, eh?”
“Unfortunately, you’re correct.” Ezra pulls out two dingy chairs for Louie and me. Only once we’re settled does he take a seat at the table, too. “Have you heard of the Vermilion Maw?”
Ezra sounds hesitant, and I know exactly why. Only a week ago, the Daughters and the Vermilion Maw were nothing more than fairytales.
“All underborne have.” Iain waves a dismissive hand, scoffing as he turns back to the mountain of dirty dishes. “It’s a load of bollocks.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought, too.”
Ezra spends the next twenty minutes telling Iain about Renato’s request and the encounter with his sister and the vampire.
I keep my face neutral, but Emme is stirring.
She doesn’t speak at first, just hums behind my ribs, heat and irritation simmering in waves. Honestly, it’s like having someone roll their eyes inside my organs.
“He doesn’t understand what’s at stake.”
Her voice cuts through the edges of my thoughts, sharp and cold and far too loud.
“Not your moment,” I think back.
But she never really listens. She just nags.
Mostly about my power. Occasionally about my spine.
She’s been awake for a day, and she already sounds like a disappointed ghost aunt who expected more from me.
When Ezra finishes, Iain’s face is unreadable. His eyes shift between the three of us before he drops his head and sighs.
“My life was so much easier before you came along, little blackbird.”
Ezra’s shadows twitch, taking offense on my behalf.
Iain rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ Christ, you dramatic shadow boggarts are worse than poltergeists on coke.”
The eddies freeze. Then, in perfect, synchronized pettiness, every single one of them turns to Iain in slow, unsettling unison.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, backing away, having clearly triggered a wrathful ballet of haunted goth pool noodles about to perform his execution in interpretive shadow-dance.
Iain clears his throat, scrubbing a hand down his face. His eyes dart between us, edged with unease.
“If what you’re saying is true, you need to get her the fuck out of here.
This town won’t hold if they come for her.
It’s not safe. We can’t allow Lucifer and Lilith’s bloodline to end.
Look, I don’t know what the infernal lovebirds had planned for their legacy.
But whatever it is, we can’t let the Disciples snuff it out.
I, for one, would rather not be on the receiving end of Lucifer and Lilith’s wrath for letting their last bleedin’ heir die on my watch. ”
“You honestly think I haven’t considered running?” Ezra’s voice is quiet, but something dangerous flickers behind his eyes.
“Because of Renato’s raid, the Disciples are weak. Scrambling. We have a little bit of time. I know this land, I know this town, and I know the underborne and humans who live here. I’d rather make a stand than run. Unfamiliar terrain and new beings make us more vulnerable to attack.”
He meets Iain’s gaze, his voice quiet with the kind of certainty that leaves no room for argument.
“And you know this town will hold. You know why.”
Holy shit.
General Ezra is a fucking problem.
His shadows know it, too. They tighten around him. Not in fear, but in deference. A soldier’s response to a commander. A quiet vow of obedience.
One of them even flicks toward me, brushing my wrist, as if it’s whispering, Yeah, we know.
I hate how attractive that is.
It’s easy to forget how long he’s walked this earth. How he’s spent most of his life waging wars that weren’t his.
But this one?
This one is his.
This one is mine.
Running? Fuck that. I’m not going anywhere.
Iain runs his hands down his face and groans.
“Gods and gallows, you’re in deep, aren’t ya? I’ll do your wards. And if it comes to it, you’ll have my sparr axe. I won’t let the bloodline die on my watch.”
“That old, rusted butter knife is still around? Christ, Iain. That thing was falling apart seven hundred years ago. It must be in shambles,” Ezra smirks.
Seven hundred years? Wait, just how far back does Ezra and Iain’s tense friendship go?
Iain reaches into thin air and pulls out an axe straight from a nightmare.
Louie perks up so fast she nearly launches herself out of the chair.
I swear I can see her nonexistent tail wagging wildly, leaving chaos in its wake.
“Eh? You like this wee hound? Come over later, and I’ll give you a proper demonstration,” Iain purrs.
Louie crosses her arms and sits back in her chair with a huff. But her eyes, wide and bright with curiosity, stay fixed on the shining black blade.
Ezra waves a hand, completely unimpressed.
“Yes, yes. Congratulations on your massive pointy stick. Now put it away so we can actually accomplish something.”
“Say it, Ezra,” Iain growls, a menacing smile spreading across his face.
“Fuck off, wrakh. I will not say that.” Ezra’s body tenses, his jaw popping from the pressure.