Chapter Twelve #2
Before I can throw something sharp back at Astrid, Jace pipes up. "I liked whoever shot the younger guy. The faun."
"I thought it was you," Sage says, eyebrows raised.
I thought the same. The shot looked like a revenge play.
"Nobody shoots my nephew, my kin, and walks away from it," Winston growls. His eyes flare golden for a heartbeat, coyote thrumming just beneath the surface.
Damn. Didn't think anything could rattle the old man.
"Apparently the old coyote's got some teeth left," I mutter, raising my third glass.
Winston levels a flat look at me, half his face still smeared with blood and glass. Eira takes over tending the wound, while Jace keeps lurking nearby, clearly not in the mood. He growls at me. Literally.
"Oh hush, puppy," I say, swirling my drink. "If you were a better shot, maybe you'd have taken the guy out. But I guess they don't teach sharpshooting in New York hedge funds, do they?"
Jace rolls his eyes. "Says the guy who got shot."
Then he turns to Sage and smiles. That smug kind of smile that says he's going to say something really stupid.
"Gotta hand it to you, Sage, you've got a type. Obnoxious, obsessive, borderline-deranged immortals who think they can say and do whatever the hell they want without consequences."
Sage frowns. His gaze cuts to me. My blood simmers.
I set my glass down with a clink, tilt my head just enough to feel the muscles in my neck stretch tight. My fangs are itching to show.
"You comparing me to that arrogant piece of shit?" I ask, voice low.
"If the shoe fits," Jace fires back.
"If the shoe fits, I'll shove it so far up your ass, it comes out laced," I growl, the pain in my shoulder drowned under the new surge of adrenaline.
Jace doesn't flinch. "Pretty sure you're not in shape to shove anything anywhere, vampire."
Donna cuts in before this devolves into blood on the carpet. She walks into the center of the room, hands raised like the least patient peacekeeper alive.
"All right. Maybe we can cool it on the shoving things up people's asses talk," she says dryly. "We've got bigger problems."
Astrid mutters under her breath, "I kind of wanted to see how that played out," while Sage looks visibly distressed, shoulders tight, gaze darting between us like she's watching a car crash with her name on the license plate.
This is costing her. That look is the reminder that all of this spins around her. It's her past, her choices that led the storm here.
Time to shift gears. For her, if nothing else.
"Fine," I say, sighing. "What's the plan, then?"
"We fortify," Asher says. "Prepare. Monitor the situation."
His tone's back to field-leader mode.
"Tomas," he continues, "clear the perimeter. Secure all points of entry. Bar the windows. You know the drill. Astrid, assist him."
The two are moving before he finishes.
"Sage, Eira, Donna, rest if you need. Then I want you back on the books. Every lead, every advantage we can find. We need it all."
They nod, gathering tomes without a word.
"You're with them," he tells me.
I narrow my eyes, but Asher's already moving on, issuing final orders like he's back on the battlefield.
"Winston, Jace, I need you both. We're going to scout. See what Darius is planning. You two can shift, get closer without drawing heat. Move when you're ready."
"Ready now, Colonel," Winston says, rising with that old school gravitas. Jace stands too, nodding sharply.
"I'm coming with," I say, draining the last of my fourth glass and setting it down with a hard clack.
"You're not," Asher says flatly.
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"You've done enough, Kayden." His voice is cold with disappointment. "That reckless stunt of yours forced a confrontation we might've avoided."
There it is. My fault. Always my fucking fault.
"I helped us show them we're not prey," I growl, stepping closer. "That we're not some trash the big man can crush under his designer boots."
His jaw clenches. Mine does, too.
"And in case you missed it, he had his hands on her. Our wife. And you think I'm just supposed to watch? Smile politely while he claims what's ours?"
What I don't say is that she didn't move, just stood there. And I can't tell if she was stunned or… something worse.
"Yes, I do expect you to control yourself. For our safety. For hers," Asher says, ice in every syllable.
The tension crackles like fire about to leap. And then her soft, frayed voice comes from the kitchen doorway. "Please… stop fighting."
One line and it knocks the air out of both of us.
Asher and I glance at each other. An unspoken truce settles between us.
"Someone should stay," he says. His tone shifts like he's handing me a gift wrapped in obligation. "Make sure everyone is safe here."
I almost roll my eyes. The strategic pacifier. A job framed like a choice. But I don't say anything, just nod and follow Sage as she turns to the kitchen. My hand settles on the small of her back, feeling her warmth through the fabric.
"Be careful out there," she tells Asher and the coyotes as they prep to leave.
Grunts of agreement follow, already shifting back into strategy talk.
I lead Sage deeper into the kitchen, letting the low hum of voices fade. She looks troubled, her eyes distant. The kind of quiet that says there's a whole ocean under the surface, churning with things I probably don't want to hear.
I want to ask. Oh, I really do. Why didn't you move when he touched you? Why did you freeze? Was it fear? Was it something else?
But the words snag in my throat. So I do what I'm best at—I deflect.
"This is a dream honeymoon, isn't it?" I say, forcing a half-grin. "Shootouts and library duty. Real luxury package. We should sell it."
She snorts. A tiny laugh, barely there, but it's enough. Something eases in my chest. Not healed, but less raw.
I was always good at dodging the hard questions.