Chapter 15
My head is a drum line, each beat a stab of pain. The culprit? A phone that won’t stop dinging its obnoxious tune.
I groan, the noise echoing in my skull, and start pawing through the tangle of limbs sprawled across the bus’s bed.
My fingers finally latch onto the shrill device, and through squinted eyes, I recognize it’s Rev’s.
Messages cascade down the screen like an endless waterfall on every app known to the digital world.
I can’t fathom being responsible for this much internet horseshit when I’m awake and not hungover, much less how I am this morning.
“Ugh,” I exhale, tossing myself onto my back as a wave of nausea hits. I can practically hear the gnomes inside my head, hammering away in a mock parade to John Philip Sousa’s most punishing march.
There’s no way I’m going to unlock this thing and see what’s going on; that much is obvious.
“Fi, give me that.” Tier’s voice cuts through the fog of my hangover as he reaches over us, his gigantic frame causing the bed to dip and sway. He grabs the blasted thing and unlocks it with ease, making me flop back into my spot in relief.
“Watch it, you big oaf. My stomach is on a tilt-a whirl,” I protest. But he’s already engrossed in the phone, urgency etching his features as he reads the mountain of bullshit silently.
“Fiadh, we need to wake up the others, now,” he whispers with a severity that jolts me despite my agony. “Especially Rev.”
Rolling over, I jab an elbow into Khol, who responds with a venomous hiss. I’m not in the mood for his theatrics. Next, I nudge Revelin, who only burrows further into the pile, seeking refuge from reality in the tangle of limbs.
Tier is much less patient, so he shakes the Fae prince roughly. “Rev, get your royal ass up. This is serious.”
Revelin merely grumbles, swatting at Tiernan’s hand like an annoyed cat. It takes Dezi, rising like an ancient vampire lord disturbed from his crypt, to command attention. His voice booms, “Revelin, wake up immediately.”
That does it, and I know he had to put a little vamp stank on the words.
The Prince’s eyes snap open, annoyance flickering to alertness under Dezi’s red-eyed glare. “What the fuck, man?”
There’s a storm brewing, and somehow, that incessant dinging phone is the lightning rod.
“Tier, kitchen. For the love of glittery wings, please,” Revelin mutters, his voice rough with sleep and irritation as he finally props himself up on one elbow. His fingers scrub at his eyes, trying to erase the vestiges of last night’s debauchery. “I can’t focus without the cure-all.”
Dezi’s smirk is sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air. “I don’t need your mortal concoctions,” he says with a self-satisfied tilt of his head.
Khol disagrees with a swift sock to Dezi’s gut, a growl rumbling from his throat. The two square off, the bus suddenly too small for their clashing egos. I’m in no mood for male garbage, so I put myself between them quickly.
“Knock it off, you two.” My voice is a growl, low and dangerous, vibrating with a hangover-induced wrath.
They freeze, and I take advantage of the lull to snatch the phone from Tiernan’s grasp and shove it into Revelin’s hands.
“And you,” I say, pointing at the snow leopard, my finger unsteady, “please… get moving on that cure.”
Tier’s answering smile is soft, almost apologetic, as he hauls himself to his feet and stumbles toward the tiny kitchenette. I flop back against my pillow, closing my eyes for a moment. I need some time to get myself together, but peace is a luxury we can’t afford right now.
“Alright, Rev, what’s the fucking emergency?” I demand, forcing my eyelids open again. Revelin’s thumbs fly over the screen, his frown deepening with every swipe.
To bother him, it must be bad. But none of us got arrested or naked in public, so what’s the problem?
He turns the phone our way, and the sight on the screen makes my blood boil—a collage of images from last night splattered across social media like a Jackson Pollock painting gone rogue.
There we are, drinks in hand, laughter frozen mid-escape, surrounded by adoring fans and envious onlookers.
Commentary spews from every corner of the internet, branding us new groupies to the Fae prince’s rock and roll court.
“Who the hell leaked this shit?” Dezi’s words are quiet but razor-edged. He’s as angry as I am because he’s so much more reserved about his public persona. This kind of salacious tripe makes him look silly, and that will not go over well at all.
“Looks like someone’s got a vendetta,” Revelin says, showing us the anonymous quotes and snide insinuations about his refusal to meet with other Fae. “The NDAs covered this with staff or Council folks.”
“Amethyst is my guess. She looked at me like I was pissing in her pool at the bus meet up.” I spit out her name like it’s poison. “Or it could be the council, I suppose. You said they were acting dumb about your appearances. Regardless, someone’s playing dirty pool.”
They all look at one another, then at Revelin, who sighs. “I’ve noticed she’s being different, yes. She was less helpful than I would have liked yesterday, and it was hard to ditch her to meet you.”
“Fuck this. You should just pull out of everything except the gigs and charity stuff. That’ll show them.” I give my mate a serious look and he shakes his head. “Why not? They deserve punishment.”
“That’s exactly what they want,” Revelin counters, weary resignation in his eyes. “It confirms everything they’re speculating. We can’t let them control the narrative.”
“Then what? Sit back and let them trample over us?” My fists clench at my sides, knuckles craving something to hit.
“I’m not the ‘sit back and take it’ kind of gal, Prince.
I spent most of our teen years kicking asses so people left Feray alone and I sure as hell refuse to let some asshole take potshots at you. ”
“Allow me to handle it,” Dezi offers, his gaze flinty and determined. “I’ll find the rat. Just give me what I need to locate all the players, Fae. We’ll have answers about your leak.”
“I’ll have to get a hold of that without Amethyst. She’s under suspicion, and I don’t want her to know what you’re doing.
” Revelin nods, the decision weighing heavily on him.
“If these leaks continue, it could compromise our search, which is unacceptable. But also, my private life is no one’s bloody business unless I choose to share. ”
“We’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Khol chimes in, his earlier aggression forgotten in the face of our shared problem. “Besides, for all we know, Amethyst could be innocent. And even if she’s not, agents like her thrive on scandal. To them, infamy equals profit.”
“Then we play it smart,” I conclude, glaring at the phone as if it’s the source of all our troubles. “No knee-jerk reactions. We find the leak, plug it, and keep moving forward.”
“Exactly,” Revelin agrees, a steel edge to his usually melodic voice. “We have to keep our eyes on the prize. This is just a distraction.”
“An annoyingly public one,” Dezi adds, his tone dark as nightfall. “But once we cut out the tumor, we’ll be back on track. At least this popped early in our journey.”
The clink of glasses against the metal tray announces Tiernan’s return before he even steps through the door.
He enters with the grace of his cat, balancing a tray laden with vials of liquid reprieve.
I reach for a tonic, the icy touch of the glass against my palm somehow grounding.
Each of us takes one, the sharp tang of citrus and herbs cutting through the fog in my brain.
“I also heated your blood, Dezi,” Tiernan says, nodding at the class of darker liquid set aside from the rest. “Hopefully, I got the temp right. I’ve never done it before.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect you to do that,” Dezi says, his voice gravelly with gratitude or residual thirst—I can’t tell which. “It’s very... considerate.” He takes the glass and tilts it back, the crimson liquid disappearing behind his lips.
“Family takes care of each other,” Tiernan states simply, and I notice the way Dezi’s stoic mask cracks at that.
It’s kind of cute that he’s got as many hang-ups about people as I do.
Dezi sets down the empty cup with a soft click and stands, muscles stretching in a beautiful porcelain dance as he retrieves his coat.
His back is a wide expanse of muscle that pulls tight against the skin, and I can’t help but crack a grin.
Revelin, his pallor still a shade too pale, lets out a faint chuckle. “Death becomes you, lass.”
“Shut it, pretty boy,” I retort, but the affection is there, betraying me despite my reluctance to admit it out loud. “How can I ignore that shit when you idiots always prance around half dressed?”
Dezi turns back to us, his arms filled with black leather cuffs.
I look at him curiously; it doesn’t feel like the time for that kind of hanky panky.
I note the Ruby crest proudly displayed atop each one and tilt my head as I wait for him to explain.
The rubies in the center gleam with the infusion of fresh blood, a stark contrast to the dark leather.
Even the guys eye the gifts, a mix of curiosity and admiration flowing freely amongst us.
“Protection charms,” Dezi explains, passing them around to my men. “Resistance hexes. You’re part of both our worlds now—vulnerable to being harmed or taken, which would hurt the witchling. I can’t have that happen, especially since you are all part of my coven as well.”
“Damn, Dezi... When did you become such a papa bear?” I mutter as the cuff wraps comfortably around my wrist, the weight reassuring, the craftsmanship impeccable. The words make him shoot me an evil glare, which I gleefully ignore.
After all, I’ve got my tricks, and he has his.
“Precautions are necessary, Fiadh,” he responds, but his lips quirk in a half-smile. “Especially because you’ve gathered the most alpha, impetuous mates on the fucking planet.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I say with a shrug. “I suppose that’s how they match with me.”
A low moan comes from the quiet Prince, and we turn to him. He buckles the cuffs on his wrist, then flops back next to me dramatically. “Greasy food. Need it now.”
“Twig going out in public is a good plan.”
“Interesting doesn’t even cover it,” I agree, my fists clenched in anticipation. “Let’s go show Arrowwood what we’re made of.”
The guys all grin, finally getting their asses in gear to get dressed.
I’d worry about their enthusiasm for my threat of violence, but let’s face it…
I definitely want to smash someone’s face this morning.
Eating breakfast in the same place as the photos were taken should give me an opportunity to burn off my aggression in a justifiable manner.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.