Chapter Forty
Kayden
The whole 'Sage's blood' mission turns out to be a bust. We find the vials smashed, shards glittering in the mess like broken promises. Whatever miracle potion goat man was planning to brew—gone.
"You kept her blood in a standard refrigerator?" Darius turns on the druid once we're back in the house, his expression caught somewhere between baffled and judgmental.
"I was waiting for the shipment of a portable industrial unit," Maeve bites out. "Didn't arrive on time. Clearly."
Behind her sharp tongue, though, is grief. She lost a friend.
"Clearly," I echo, just to fill the silence.
The whole crew is mourning again. Tomas stands near the fireplace, stiff as a statue, but farther from Asher than usual. Astrid's raiding the fridge, muttering curses about her favorite beer being gone.
I drank it all. She can kill me later.
Donna's barely holding it together. Her voice cracks as she speaks. "Eira doesn't have next of kin. I'll handle the funeral. My family will cover it."
"I will," Darius says, stepping in whenever money's being thrown around.
Donna shakes her head. "She was our friend. It's only proper."
To his credit, the bastard doesn't argue.
I clap my hands once to get their attention. "All right. Now that the death logistics are sorted, can we get back to the main event? Like, I don't know… tracking down our feral, blood-drunk wife before she tears someone else's throat out?"
"I should never have come here," Maeve mutters, rubbing her temples. "Or I should've left the moment I saw what kind of trouble you three were."
"You're not leaving," Darius says, voice cold.
Asher nods. "If Sage is looking for you, you need us, and we need you."
"Oh, I'm sure she is," Maeve mutters, folding her arms. "She wants me to break the bond.
I didn't expect to marry two vampires to a nymph, and certainly not to divorce them three weeks later.
What makes you think I'll stick around for this horror show?
I already see where it ends. More blood. Probably mine."
"You'll stay," Darius says, smooth as ever, "because I'll return everything I took from you. And give you more."
Maeve looks at him long and hard, disgust warping every inch of her face. "You really think you can buy people back? Like lost property?"
He doesn't blink. "When one is as wealthy and powerful as I am—yes. I can."
I snort so hard it hurts. "Wow. Just… wow. You're a damn fountain of charm, goat man. Can't imagine why anyone would want to run screaming from your cozy embrace."
He doesn't react, which pisses me off more.
Astrid barges back in, arms full of half-frozen bottles she clearly liberated from the depths of the freezer. "Look who's talking," she throws at me with a crooked grin.
I raise a brow. "Oh, come on, valkyrie. I thought you and I had a thing. Some shared understanding. At the very least, you've got to admit, I'm better than this guy." I jerk a thumb toward Darius, who somehow manages to radiate disdain by standing still.
She barks a laugh. "You three are so alike it's a wonder you haven't noticed. Obsessive, possessive, and perfectly willing to raze the world to get what you want. You take different roads, but they all end the same—everyone else ends up dead."
"Sage has a type," Donna pipes up with a shrug. Then, almost as an afterthought: "Sorry, Asher. But you too."
The three of us—me, my brother, and the tree cult CEO—exchange a look.
It's… uncomfortable.
I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't want to face it. But now that it's out there, I can't unsee it.
Still, I lean on the only thing I've got—sarcasm.
"Okay, sure. But let's be honest, I've got the best hair."
Donna snorts. Even Astrid's mouth twitches.
It's easier to crack a joke than admit the truth: we brought the storm to this town and the collateral damage is stacking up. I know the goat man isn't wallowing in guilt, but Asher is. That I care about. Even if I'll never say it out loud.
"All unnecessary comparisons aside," Darius interjects, like it's a corporate strategy meeting, "what do you say, Maeve? Your pride can't possibly be louder than your logic."
Maeve exhales sharply through her nose. Annoyed, but not outright murder-y, which is progress. "Ten million. For my project."
"Done," Darius says without blinking. "More than that—I'll roll it into Hawthorn Industries. Public launch. You'll present it during the event in Briar Hollow. Sage will know you're there. She'll come."
"And your plan is what? Ambush her between the canapés and champagne?" I mutter.
"We'll have my team ready with a compound of wildbane and nightshade. It should knock her unconscious without killing her," he says calmly.
"Bold to assume she'll show," I say. "What if she torches the place?"
"Do you have a better plan, vampire?" Darius asks, voice infuriatingly even.
I don't answer. He's right. Sage isn't in her right mind, and we don't have a single clue where she's hiding. Tracking her in miles of Maine's forests? Good-fucking-luck.
"I didn't think so," Darius concludes.
And gods, I want to punch him again.
But I don't. Of course I don't. We're allies and all, and I hate it, but can't do anything about it.
"We'll make it happen, then," Asher says, folding his arms. "Use the event to draw her in. Are you okay with that, Maeve?"
As if she has a choice when the satyr's throwing his empire around like poker chips.
"I suppose I have to be," she says dryly, shooting Darius a side-eye full of venom.
"Well then," I say, pushing off the wall, "guess I'll dig out the tux. Nothing says 'come home, baby' like a fancy hostage trap and black-tie dress code."
I leave them to their scheming. Yet under all the scorched ash and painful memories, something small dares to flicker—hope.
Because she could've killed Asher, but she didn't. She's trying to break the bond because she still feels something.
And maybe that means she's still ours.