Chapter 18
Tess
I grabbed my jacket off the hook and slung my bag over my shoulder, giving the suite one last glance. Whiskey was sprawled across the threshold blocking my exit, his single eye blinking up at me without a care that I was trying to leave.
I stepped over him carefully, then crouched down to scratch behind his ears.
"Okay, Pumpkin, I'm going to find Mason. Guard the fort."
I stood and opened the door. My brain hadn't stopped since training. Three phases. Jurisdictional silos. The pattern still happening. I needed to say it out loud to someone before I exploded, and Mason was—
Mason was standing right there.
His fist was raised, and we both froze for half a second before the words tumbled out in unison.
"I need to talk to you."
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Close enough.
"You first," I said, stepping back to let him in. His shoulders were set in a way that told me his thing was heavier than mine. Or at least heavier right now.
He ducked through the doorway—he always had to duck a little, which never stopped being endearing—and I closed the door behind us.
The suite was small. Bed, desk, the reading chair Whiskey loved to sleep on.
My books stacked in precarious towers. It smelled like the cinnamon candle I kept burning and the faint mustiness of old paper.
Mason sat on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dipped under him hard. Whiskey, who had zero loyalty and even less shame, immediately abandoned his post at the door to hop up and headbutt Mason's thigh.
"Hey, buddy." Mason's big hand engulfed the cat's entire head in a gentle scratch. Whiskey purred and flopped sideways against Mason's leg.
Traitor.
I sat beside them, tucking one leg under me, close enough that my knee pressed against his. The contact settled the tightness in my chest. I waited.
Mason kept petting Whiskey. His jaw worked once. Twice. The bond pulsed. My chest tightened in response.
"It's getting worse," he said. "At the house."
I didn't ask what. I watched his face.
"Since the bonding?" I asked.
He nodded. "Silvius—" A pause. His hand stilled on Whiskey's fur. The cat chirped in protest. Through the bond, I felt the spike. "Whatever's going on with him—the pressure, the politics, all of it—he's taking it out on Kane."
I went still.
"Mason."
"That's the thing." His voice was low. "Next morning, Kane's fine. Always fine." The word came out like a bitter thing he'd been chewing on. "Moves like nothing happened. Talks like nothing happened. Eats breakfast, runs drills, corrects my stance during sparring—"
His hand resumed its slow pass over Whiskey's fur. "But I've heard it. Through the walls."
He was quiet for a moment. The bond went still. He was holding something back even from me. I felt it—the worry for Kane, the dread of what Mason wasn't saying, the wrongness of a fine that required that much effort to maintain.
"It's escalating, Tess. It used to be... controlled. Strategic. Kane could predict it and plan around it. Now it's just—"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
I pressed my knee harder against his. Not interrupting. Just here.
"And Kali's in that house," he said, and there it was—the real weight.
His voice didn't crack, didn't waver, but I heard the break running through it.
"She's fifteen. She shouldn't be hearing that.
Shouldn't be walking on eggshells in her own home, trying to figure out which version of him she's getting at dinner. "
My throat tightened. I thought about Kali, who'd already survived things no child should have to name. Who was just starting to learn what safety felt like.
"I'm getting us out."
I looked at him. His dark eyes were steady.
The bond flared. This wasn't a plan he was considering. This was already done in his mind.
And it was dangerous.
The thought flickered through me fast—Silvius was the Lord Protector. The man who controlled the Guild we both served. Defying him openly, taking Kane and Kali out from under his roof, that wasn't just family drama. That was political. That had consequences.
I shoved the thought aside before it could take root.
"I've already started looking at places," he said.
"Real places. Not just apartments—somewhere with space.
Somewhere Kali can breathe." He stopped, and I saw the flicker.
For a gargoyle whose parents had been killed because their bonds were rare and coveted, home wasn't about comfort.
It was survival. Four walls that could actually hold.
"Having Rundel changes things. Being a Rider gives me standing I didn't have before. Leverage."
"Good," I said. Whatever risk he was taking, I was taking it with him. "What do you need from me?"
His expression shifted. But I wasn't anyone else. I was his mate, and I saw it. The relief of being believed without having to argue his case.
"Just this," he said quietly. "Knowing you're with me on it."
"I'm with you." I reached over and laced my fingers through his. His hand swallowed mine. "Always. You know that."
Whiskey climbed directly into Mason's lap and began kneading his thigh. Mason huffed and resumed petting him with his free hand.
It was all still there—the pattern, the phases, the thing I'd been trying to tell him since he knocked on my door. The words crowded behind my teeth. My brain was still spinning, still cataloging, still screaming that this mattered and I needed to say it now.
But I looked at him—really looked. The Friday dinner was tonight.
The command performance at Silvius's table, where the whole household sat down together because the Lord Protector demanded it.
Mason went every week. Not for himself. For Kali.
Because leaving her alone at that table with him was something Mason would never do.
He was about to walk into that house carrying all of this. The plan. The knowledge of what was happening to Kane. The weight of keeping Kali safe while pretending everything was fine over whatever formal meal Silvius orchestrated to maintain his illusion of a family.
And I was about to dump a conspiracy theory and a jurisdictional crisis on top of it.
I swallowed hard. Pushed the words down. They didn't go easy. They stuck in my throat, and my chest felt too tight, too full, pressure building against my ribs.
My ADHD brain that had been running at full speed since training hated this. Hated staying quiet when I'd figured something out. Hated the effort it took to sit on information that wanted to explode outward.
But tonight, he needed to be Kali's brother. That was enough.
It had to be.
"Take Whiskey with you," I said instead, hoping to get a grin. "Kali could use the emotional support animal."
He studied me for a moment. I could feel him reading me through the bond. His brow creased.
"You said you needed to talk too."
"It can wait." I smiled. It was mostly real. "Go take care of your sister."
He held my gaze a beat longer than necessary, and I knew he didn't fully buy it. But he trusted me enough not to push—trusted that if it couldn't wait, I'd say so.
We stood. Whiskey tumbled off Mason's lap with an indignant mrrp and stalked toward his food bowl to register a formal complaint.
At the door, Mason turned back to me. He cupped my face in both hands and kissed me. The bond pulsed between us, and I leaned into it. Into him. Let myself be held for exactly as long as the moment lasted.
"Tonight," he murmured against my lips.
"Tonight," I agreed.
Then he was gone, and the door clicked shut, and I was alone in my suite with a one-eyed cat and a chest full of restless energy.
The pattern was still there. The three phases. The silos. The thing that was still happening—all of it pressing outward against my ribs demanding release.
I needed to tell someone.
Soon.