Chapter Fourteen
Sage
Worse than something happening is when nothing does. The waiting is its own kind of torture. Anticipation, tension, fear coil tighter each day, with no release, no blow to brace against. Just silence.
Spring Equinox, my supposed wedding date, comes and goes without a disturbance.
From what Asher, Winston, and Jace have pieced together, Darius set up shop in Briar Hollow's so-called business district.
The mayor likes the name, but let's be real, it's two glass buildings and a chain coffee shop.
Still, Darius leasing out an entire office floor doesn't look temporary.
Unless it's another tactic we can't read yet.
We lasted two nights crammed together in the house like reluctant roommates—bars on the windows, weapons stashed in arm's reach.
After that, the decision was made to split up.
Not ideal, but living on top of each other while waiting for a billionaire satyr's next move wasn't working either.
Winston and Jace reopened Cole's, trying for normalcy.
Eira went back to the hospital, Donna to her family.
Tomas and Astrid stay on-call as muscle, shadowing when needed.
Even with Darius quiet, no one moves alone.
I bury myself in the books. Nothing new surfaces, but at least the research numbs the gnawing pit in my stomach.
A pit that feels permanent. I can't shake the images: the way Darlene looked at me like I'd betrayed everything she stands for, the way Darius reached through the ward, the sound of Johnny's shin snapping under rifle fire, Kayden's skin blackening from hawthorn, the bullets lodged in Asher's back.
I didn't ask for any of this, but it's here and running won't undo it.
I glance at my hand, two rings circling my finger. My choice. My line in the sand. I smile, faint, but it holds. I'm not leaving. Even if I see the questions burning in Asher's and Kayden's eyes, waiting for me to answer when the dust settles: Why didn't you move away from Darius?
The question stalks me. His hand brushing mine. The raw look on his face. I hate that I think about it. Hate that I don't have an answer I like, not for them, not for myself.
Maybe it's some leftover trace of his influence. Maybe it's something buried in me as a nymph. Satyrs and nymphs… the myths always bound us together. Desire, temptation, some ancient pull. Maybe that's why my body reacted when my mind screamed no. Maybe it's just instinct that answers him.
Or maybe it's worse. Maybe a part of me hasn't let go of the manipulative bastard who thinks he owns me.
I try to force my eyes back onto the book when Kayden strolls into the kitchen like he rolled out of bed after a bar fight. Shirt hanging open, hair a mess, fangs already twitching. He yanks the fridge door open, grabs a blood carton, chugs, then pulls back with a dramatic grimace.
"This tastes like it's been sitting since the Civil War. This siege thing is getting old," he mutters.
That's the moment Asher strides in, polished, pressed, and every inch the soldier. Dark pants, camo shirt stretched across his chest like he's about to march into a recruitment poster.
"Eira will bring more soon enough," he says, clipped. "Fresh blood supply hasn't been a priority. If you're impatient, you can hunt in the woods, brother." The last word lands heavy, laced with that tightly leashed irritation that never quite leaves his tone where Kayden's concerned.
The fight between them might be shelved, but it's not gone. Asher hasn't let him scout, and Kayden hasn't pressed. Waiting around in shadows isn't his idea of fun, after all.
Kayden wipes his mouth and smirks. "I'm sure our nature-loving wife would be thrilled if I drained Bambi."
I roll my eyes. Asher doesn't rise to it. He never does. Instead, he drops the news that's been tightening his jaw since he walked in.
"Donna just wrote me. Darius had a meeting with Harlan Bright. She wasn't there, but she said her father looked as pleased as the night of his reelection."
My stomach sinks.
"Which means Darius offered him something he can't refuse," I say flatly. Because of course he did. He has resources to burn, charm to spare, and the kind of pressure that can crush a mayor like a tin can.
Asher's expression hardens. "Then let's see if he really can't refuse. I'll go meet him. You two stay put."
Kayden snaps off a mocking salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."
"All right," I agree, though the words taste sour. Staying put feels like waiting to rot. But I know Asher's right. The best course of action right now is caution even if it's driving me insane.
Once Asher heads out, Kayden swivels toward me, brows waggling.
"Well, well. House all to ourselves, wifey. What do you say we make the most of it?"
I give him a slow, loaded smile, dropping my voice into something sultry.
"Of course, husband. We absolutely should…"
Then I slide the book across the table toward him.
His expression collapses into mock tragedy. He slumps into the chair with an exaggerated sigh. "One day you'll regret playing with my emotions like this." Then adds, "And now you can't say I've misbehaved. Look at me, all studious and bookish."
"Mm," I murmur over the page. "You're always misbehaving."
His grin sharpens, wicked. "And you still married me."
I can't help the reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah. I did."
And somehow, in spite of everything—the siege, the waiting, the war looming on the horizon—saying it feels like a choice well made.
Two hours. Two more coffees. The walls still feel too close when I hear tires crunching over gravel.
"A short meeting," Kayden mutters.
Then a shout from outside: "Sage! I come in peace!"
My stomach twists. Not Asher.
"Johnny."
Kayden's eyes narrow, predator sharp. We both crowd the barred window. One car. Johnny stands at the barrier line, palms lifted. Papers in one hand.
Kayden's voice drops low, hungry. "Well, look at that. A snack volunteering." His fangs lengthen.
I catch his arm. "No."
He turns on me, irritation flaring hot.
"He didn't come to fight. We don't harm a messenger."
Kayden rolls his eyes, muttering, "The way I see it, that's one less bastard on their side."
I glare. "Kayden. No. He came with a message, and he's… different. One of the good ones. Let me talk to him."
His jaw flexes. Teeth grind. "What if it's a trap?"
"The barrier's here. I'll be careful. Let me do this. Alone."
He stares, fighting himself. Finally spits, "Fine."
"Promise me you won't do anything reckless," I add, narrowing my eyes.
The silence stretches. His whole body is a taut line of defiance until he exhales, loud and theatrical.
"All right. I promise. For you. This time. But that guy—" he points toward the window, voice rough, "—I remember him. He was in that container. Don't sell me the good one crap. He doesn't make the list."
I squeeze his arm softly. "Thank you."
It's the best I'll get. Considering he married one of those "container people"—me—it's already more than I deserve.
I inhale deep, steady myself, and step out the door.
Fresh air hits like a slap, cool and clean, but my heart hammers as I walk toward the ward line. Trap or not, this could go badly.
Johnny waits, arms still raised, eyes darting between me and the house, reading the threat level.
Beyond him, through the car window, I catch Darlene at the wheel. Her eyes sweep the house, the treeline, everywhere at once. Her hands look casual, but I don't buy it. There's a weapon close.
I cross my arms, plant my feet, keep the barrier between us like a wall. "What do you want?"
Johnny lowers his hands slowly. His blue eyes find mine, soft but intent. His hair's a shaggy heap, falling onto his face, all soft lines, almost boyish. Hard to reconcile with someone who's been walking this earth for centuries. A sad smile curves his lips. "Nice to see you too."
"We just had a shootout," I snap. "I think we're past small talk."
"I know." His gaze drops to the dirt. "I didn't want that to happen." He looks back up. "Darius didn't want it either."
"If he didn't want that, then he should've left me alone." My voice stays curt, even if something twists inside.
Johnny nods, accepts the blow. Then: "How are you, Sage?"
I blink. "Really? That's what you're asking?"
"Yes." His tone firms. "Because in case you forgot, we were teammates. We were friends." He limps a half-step closer.
Guilt punches my stomach. I glance down, voice quieter. "I'm… good. As much as I can be, considering the circumstances." Then I look at his leg. "You're the one injured."
He smiles faintly. "Yeah. Not a big deal. It'll heal." His eyes soften again. "But I'm glad you're all right. And… I guess congratulations."
I tilt my head, disbelief edging my words. "Seriously? You expect me to buy that's sincere?"
Johnny shrugs, honest in his weariness. "I don't understand it. Don't approve, not that you need my approval. Or Darius's, for that matter. But if you're happy, if this isn't just a desperate counterstrike, then yeah, I mean it."
I let out a breath. Against my will, I believe him. Johnny's always been the heart of our team.
"It was… a bit of both," I admit. "But I am happy. Thanks." A wry smile tugs at me. "I'm guessing no congratulatory card from Darlene?"
His expression tightens. After a pause he says, "When you disappeared, Darlene was the first to organize a search party. First to move, while Darius was away."
My throat works. "You thought I was in trouble."
"You didn't exactly leave a note," he says pointedly. "But she was also the first to suspect you ran. She'd been wary ever since the Kayden Darrow case. We never found his nightstone band."
I nod, no point dodging it. "I tossed it back to him in the container."
He nods, like he already knew.