Chapter Twenty-One
Sage
The fact that Winston's out makes it easier.
Mid-shift, I slip outside for five minutes and pull out my phone.
I know Darius's number by heart—standard procedure back when we went on hunts was memorizing the team's numbers.
Darius had me drill his until it was second nature, even if he didn't participate in the hunts directly.
He wanted to make sure that he'd be the first to know if I was in trouble.
I type it in from memory.
Today is possible. I'm at Cole's. But the place could be watched.
I have a gnawing suspicion Asher or Kayden are somewhere nearby. Maybe both.
His reply comes less than a minute later, like he's been waiting for my message.
Noted.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and return to pouring drinks. Half an hour later it buzzes again.
Confirmed. Eyes on you. I'll handle distraction. Be ready to slip out back. Tell me when you're ready.
And then a second message:
They will be safe. My word to you.
I grind my teeth. Gods, I hate this. Planning behind their backs, while they're watching behind mine.
I write: Half an hour. Woods behind the bar, dirt road beyond.
His reply is immediate.
Understood. I'll be there. That's all he writes.
I find Jace, wiping down the bar. "I need to ask you something. A favor."
He frowns instantly. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"
"I need to step out for a short time," I say carefully, praying he won't ask more.
But of course he does.
Jace narrows his eyes. "You're meeting one of them. Darius himself, aren't you?"
I nod. No sense in lying. "I promised during the event, and he promised truce if I hear him out."
Jace groans, running a hand through his hair. "What the hell, Sage? What's stopping him from packing you up and shipping you to Bali? Or wherever the hell he wants?"
"He made a promise. A binding one." My voice hardens, low. "I have to, Jace. If there's a chance to end this without blood, I want to take it. I don't want a war that could've been avoided." Reminding him of his own story, I add, "Like your pack."
His jaw flexes. He hates that I said it. Hates that it hits home.
"You want me to lie to Asher," he says flatly.
"Just keep quiet. For now. And if I manage to broker peace, I'll put in a word for you. You'll pitch your idea directly to him."
His brows rise. "Blatant bribery, huh?"
"Please, Jace. I have to try."
He sighs, long and weary. "I don't like this. At all. But… if you think you can end it…" He shakes his head, then mutters, "All right. Go."
Relief floods me. I squeeze his shoulder. "Thank you. Really."
I slip my phone out again and type: All set. Tell me when.
Ten minutes later, the buzz comes.
Now.
My stomach flips. No turning back.
The sleek black car looks out of place in the woods. Darius stands in front of it, immaculate as usual, lips curving into that practiced, disarming smile the moment he sees me.
"Please," he says, opening the door with courtly grace.
"Let's do this quickly," I mutter, sliding in before I can change my mind.
He joins me a second later, moving with the kind of unhurried ease that grates against my frayed nerves. The engine hums to life.
"Where are we going?" My voice comes out tighter than I intend.
"Dinner." He stretches back comfortably, hands resting loosely, like this is the most ordinary thing in the world. "You promised me."
"I promised a talk. We can talk here." My pulse is spiking, palms damp. "This counts."
For a second, I wonder if I just made a huge mistake.
"We didn't specify," he says smoothly. "And I'd much prefer a proper dinner to a rushed exchange in a parked car."
His serenity only sharpens my panic. I grit my teeth. "Darius. No. I don't have time. I need to get back or they'll know I slipped out. They'll worry."
"They are distracted." His tone doesn't waver. "It will take some time before they realize the lead is false."
My head snaps toward him. "Who's distracting them?"
"Johnny," he replies, almost indulgently. "We're surrounded by nature, and, as you may know, fauns have special abilities when it comes to illusions."
I exhale, shaky. "Johnny. All right."
"Indeed." His eyes gleam. "I asked him because I knew it would ease you. He won't go against my order not to harm your… husbands."
The word twists in his mouth, and I squirm in my seat, hating the knot in my gut.
"I could have attacked. I could have done much more by force." His tone remains calm, but his words dig under my skin. "But I didn't. I won't. Not unless I'm provoked."
I bite my lip, turning to the window. Forest shadows blur past, my reflection pale against the glass. "Where are we going?"
"A members' club. They have a restaurant I find… reputable."
"And it's around here?" My suspicion spikes. "Never heard of it."
"It's a little out of town," he says smoothly. "I imagine your friends are not members. Which is why you wouldn't know of it."
I roll my eyes. "Really? Judging my circle because they're not rich enough for your fancy clubs?"
He studies me. "Not judging, Sage. Only answering. I want you to relax and feel safe. I will not harm you, nor take you away." His expression softens, and I notice something like hurt. "I'm not the monster you're making me into."
I sigh and sink back into the leather seat, though tension still coils in my chest. "All right. I'll… I'll try. But it's been intense, Darius. We had a shootout, for gods' sake." My voice softens despite myself. "Did anyone get hurt on your side? Besides Darlene and Johnny."
"Hurt—yes. But no fatalities, thankfully."
I nod, feeling somewhat relieved.
Folding my arms tight across my chest, I look out the window again.
No use lying to myself. I know I'm being reckless.
Completely, utterly, selfishly reckless.
I tell myself it's for peace, for truce, for the people I care about.
But there's another truth I can't shake: I want to hear what Darius has to say.
I want to look him in the eye and find out what's real and what's manipulation.
Across from me, he opens a polished compartment and takes out a bottle of whiskey and two crystal tumblers. Like this is nothing more than a business meeting. He pours, adds a splash of water, and hands me one.
I accept it, mostly for something to do with my hands.
"You're not making a mistake," he says, like he's plucked the thought straight out of my head.
I sip, the burn grounding me. "You say you're not a monster, but you came here ready to drag me away by force."
He swirls his glass, gaze distant and thoughtful. "We're engaged, Sage. How could I not come for you? Someone poisoned your mind, and I was meant to sit by and let you go? After everything we've been through? After what we've built? That's not who I am."
My throat tightens, anger pushing through the nerves. "We're not engaged. I'm married. Twice over, in case you haven't noticed."
His eyes meet mine, a shadow of grief flashing through them. "I noticed," he says quietly. "But the fact that we are no longer engaged doesn't change that I love you."
The words hit like a knife, sinking into my gut before I can brace for it. I turn away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
"You don't care that I'm married?" My voice is thin and brittle. "That I'm with them now? You still want me back?"
He leans back with a heavy sigh, one hand loose on the glass.
"Am I happy knowing you gave yourself to others?
That you share your bed with them? No." His tone darkens, then steadies again.
"However, I am more than two thousand years old, Sabrina Quinn.
I've seen too much, endured too much to let jealousy or petty emotions blind me.
I don't waste myself on bitterness. I seek what I want.
" His eyes sharpen, pinning me. "And what I want is you. That hasn't changed. It won't."
Darius once told me that the names we're born with carry a different kind of power, and when he says mine, I feel it seep under my skin. His words thrum through me, undeniable, resonating in places I don't want touched.
I take another swallow of whiskey, hoping that its fire in my chest will drown out the other one building there. I can't let him drag me into a spiral I won't climb out of.
Then he says, "I know you shared your blood with them. I hope you didn't try theirs."
I blink at him, surprised by the turn. "No. You told me it's poison. Why? Is there something else?"
He shakes his head. "No. It's harmful for a nymph, that is the truth. I needed to hear it from you." He looks out the window, glass balanced easily in his hand. "We're here."
The car winds up a gravel drive, pulling toward a mansion larger than the Bright estate. White columns, glowing windows, manicured lawns. Power, wealth, exclusivity bleeding from every angle.
A private members' club. I'd bet my life the mayor's name is on the list.
The driver opens the door. Darius offers me his hand. I don't argue, picking my battles.
We move through a side entrance straight into the restaurant.
The staff greet him with murmured "Mr. Hawthorn" and deferential bows.
If I cared, I'd feel out of place in my dark jeans and simple shirt I use for working at Cole's.
And once we step into the chandelier-lit grand hall, I do care.
A little. Old habits die hard—being proper was drilled into me since kindergarten. Expensive, exclusive kindergarten.
Thankfully, we're ushered into a private dining room. Heavy velvet curtains fall shut around us, sealing us in like conspirators.
Darius pulls out a chair for me. I sit, wary. My fingers brush unconsciously against the crystal at my neck. His eyes track the movement, but he doesn't comment.
"I've ordered the special menu," he says smoothly. "Wine paired with the courses. If you'd prefer something else—"
"It's fine." My voice comes out sharp. "I just want to get on with this."