by Devon Monk
I huffed a laugh. He flashed a grin so bright and sweet, it brought tears to my eyes.
“A lot of years have passed, and I’ve made some good decisions and some dumb decisions. But today, right now, I know I’m finally making the best decision in my life.”
He was still clutching that box in his hand, but now he seemed to notice it. He didn’t look away from me, hadn’t once since he’d started talking, but his hand loosened. I could see it in the angle of his shoulder, in the slow inhale and exhale.
“Ready?” he asked.
I had no idea what he was asking me, so I nodded.
I heard a soft sound, a scratch, a whisper behind me. Like paper stars rubbing together.
No, louder. Like an envelope ripping open.
Several things happened at once.
Ryder began lowering himself, as if he were about to kneel, but he paused, his eyes going wide at something behind me.
I was already turning, Jean’s hand pushing my shoulder, Myra shouting as she pulled her gun.
Everyone was moving, all the werewolves, the vampires, the gods, and—Hell. There were so many more people here now, people who I’d known all my life, almost the whole town of supernaturals and gods. They’d gathered while I’d been lost in Ryder’s eyes.
I got a brief look, just a glimpse, of Bathin, the envelope caught between two fingers, his eyes narrowed, furious.
Furious at a man—no, demon—standing in front of him. Furious because that demon—same dark hair as Bathin, same royal bearing, but the rest of him thinner, leaner, all whipcord and hatred—plunged a sword through Bathin’s gut.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The air was knocked out of my lungs, and sand was everywhere—in my mouth, my eyes, my hair and ears. Sand smooshed down the neckline of my dress and slithered into my boots. I pushed to get up and realized there was a body covering me. A very familiar body.
“Stay down,” Ryder growled, his breath hot, his beard scratching my cheek.
“Get off—” I started, but then the strangest thing happened.
Bathin laughed.
Not one of those weird, shocky giggles some people went into when they were in pain. No, this was a derisive bark. A challenge. Loud and hearty.
“Is that it?” Bathin demanded. “Myra,” this in a much softer tone, “put the gun down. It won’t work.”
“I’ll shoot him, and we can find out.” She sounded furious.
“Ryder,” I grunted. “Get off of me!”
He shifted—smart, because I was about to go for an elbow to the ribs if he’d held me down a second longer.
I wormed out from under him at the same time he stood. We sort of tangled up there for a minute, but ended standing, more or less side by side, even though he kept trying to put his body between me and the demon.
“Myra,” Bathin tried again.
“Turn around asshole, so I can shoot you in the face.” Wow. My sister was more than furious. She was…I’d never heard that kind of cool violence from her.
Bathin must have caught onto her tone too, because he took a couple steps forward. Right through the demon who was still standing there, back toward us.
“Baby,” he said, walking into the muzzle of her gun and putting his hand on her wrist. “I’m good. I’m fine. Don’t shoot me.”
She blinked like it was the first time in an hour. Angry tears slipped from the corner of her eyes.
“What in the hell, Bathin!” She dropped her gun back in her purse and reached for him, but didn’t seem to know where to put her hands since the sword hilt was still sticking out of his gut. “He stabbed you. Holy shit, we need an ambulance. Delaney, get an ambulance.”
Bathin threw a look over her shoulder at me as I strode up to them. “I’m fine,” he told me, because Myra was done listening to him, scared beyond reason.
If I’d ever doubted just how deeply her feelings for him ran, this would be the moment when I finally understood.
She loved him to the point that her calm and cool was busted as soon as she saw him injured.
“You have a sword in your gut,” I said. “Talk to me.”
“Oh.” He glanced down like he’d forgotten about the thing, then wrapped his big mitt around the hilt and yanked.
“No!” Myra said, just as I said, “Wait!”
He should have had to step back to clear the blade from his body and not hit Myra. She jerked backward instinctively as his fist went by, but there was nothing in it.
Nothing but smoke.
“What the hell?” Myra repeated. She pointed at his stomach. Her hand trembled, but her words were angry. “Why aren’t you bleeding?”
“It wasn’t a real sword,” Bathin said. “Well, not for long. It’s a projection. It hurt, momentarily, but he can’t maintain the hatred over this distance long enough for it to stick. The wimp.”
“What?” she asked.
“Who?” I asked. Ryder was next to me, had been for quite some time. He pointed toward the demon man who stood as still as a projection on pause.
“My brother,” Bathin said. “Goap.”
“And that’s him?” I asked.
“It’s a message from him. But yes, that’s one of the forms he takes.” Bathin caught Myra’s hands, covering them with his own. “I opened the envelope. I should have waited, but I didn’t recognize the handwriting. I didn’t know it was from my brother.”
“He stabbed you.”
Bathin rolled one of his big shoulders. “Siblings.”
She shook her head slowly, but I could see the color coming back into her cheeks. “What an ass.”
“Takes after my father.”
Xtelle neighed and whinnied as she trotted down the beach, a string of fake flowers draped around her neck bouncing with every step. She glanced around at the supernaturals and gods gathered, somehow figured out correctly that these people were in the know about the magic of the town, and said, “Why wasn’t I invited to this gathering? It looks important. Why isn’t it about me?”
Bathin tipped his head. “And my mother.”
Finally, Myra smiled, but she was still shaking her head.
“Is that Goap?” Xtelle asked. “What is he doing here? Is this about him? This can’t be about him. I haven’t had a party about me yet.”
Bathin let go of Myra’s hands and walked around so he stood in front of the projection of his brother. “You might as well watch too,” he told me.
Of course I moved over to see. So did most of the rest of the gathered crowd. Myra stood slightly in front of Bathin. He had to shift her more to the side. “Otherwise, it won’t work, babe.”
I felt the crowd shift as Xtelle pushed her way through until her head was next to my hip.
Then Bathin pulled out the paper and envelope he’d stuffed in his pocket, scanned it, and said, “This is my first and final warning.”
The image of Goap snapped to life. He was…colder, somehow, now that he was moving, and harder. He looked real, but my instincts told me he wasn’t really here in Ordinary, wasn’t really alive and breathing and glaring at his brother.
“Hello, Goap,” Bathin said. “What do you want?”
“I want you to die, but slowly, and somewhere where I can watch.”
Bathin made a rolling finger motion so his brother would hurry it up.
“You have a betrayer in your midst.”
Bathin rolled the finger again. “Get to the marrow. I have things to do.”
“Father wants you dead.”
“Still waiting for news.”
Goap shifted his stance, linking his fingers in front of his waist. “The king knows you’re here. He knows Xtelle is here. He knows Avnas is here. He’s coming. The Reed family won’t be enough to keep you safe. These hollow gods won’t be enough to keep you safe. He will tear this place apart with his bare hands.”
“Why tell me?”
Goap looked startled. “What?”
“The king’s wanted me dead for eons. W
hy send this message now?”
“I just told you: He’s coming for you.”
Bathin shrugged. “Maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t. But you’re here, and that’s interesting.”
Goap threw his hands up. “Fine! Don’t listen to me. You never have. But when you’re gone, there will only be one son in line for the throne.” He sneered and pointed at his own chest.
He held that pose, but as the seconds ticked by, his sneer turned into a frown and he straightened. “Is this still on? How do I turn off?” He patted his arms as if looking for a button. “I thought I put the switch—” His hand tapped his elbow, and he winked out and was gone.
“Ass,” Bathin grumbled.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s take this somewhere more private and work out a plan. Bathin, I’m going to need you to tell me everything you know about your brother and your father’s resources. Xtelle, I want—”
“No,” Ryder said.
“You can—” I turned toward him and he wasn’t angry. He was smiling. It was soft and so familiar, I felt a sweet pressure building behind my breastbone.
“That can wait just a little while, don’t you think?” He reached out for me and took one of my hands.
“You have sand on your face,” I said.
“Yeah?” He brushed one side of his face. I pointed to the other, and he swiped his palm over it. “Better?”
“Yeah. Yes. Good. Me?”
“You look perfect.”
I smiled because I couldn’t not. “Are you trying to butter me up for something, Ryder Bailey?”
“Is it working?”
“Let’s hear all of it, and I’ll let you know.”
He squeezed my hand. Then, without looking away from me, he lowered down until he was kneeling, one knee down, one foot flat. “How’s it looking so far?”
“Good. Nice form. Great choice of slacks too. Thigh muscles are a nice touch.”
“Thanks. That’s why I picked them. Also for my butt. They make my butt look amazing.”
“Maybe I should be the judge of that.”
“Only you,” he said. “Delaney. I love you. You’re the only person in this world who I want to judge my butt.”
I snorted a laugh and shook my head a little, tears pricking the edges of my eyes. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Butt talk?”
“The butt talk isn’t quite what I was hoping for.”
“Okay. I can take criticism. Less butt talk more heart talk. Got it.” He cleared his throat. I thought I heard someone make a dreamy sigh, but really, it seemed so far away it wasn’t worth paying attention to.
Right now there was only Ryder, only his hand on mine, only his smile crinkling his eyes. He looked happy. Nervous, but happy.
He’d never been more handsome than this moment.
“Delaney, I’ve wished on a lot of stars, but I never thought you’d come true. Please let me be your husband.” He opened the box. The thin gold band winked like a drop of honey and sunlight nestled against black velvet. “Please be my wife.”
“What about Mithra?” I whispered. They were not the words I expected to come out of my mouth. From the look on Ryder’s face (and the muffled tittering from the crowd), they were not the words he expected either.
“I’m not proposing to Mithra,” he said.
“This will give him what he wants,” I said. “Us, in a contract. Him, trying to get a piece of Ordinary so he can rule over all of us. You said you would never marry me.”
“Not while I was connected to him,” Ryder said, calm but so sure. He shrugged. “So we’re going to have to find a way to end my connection to him.”
“We?”
“I want to be in every part of your life, and want you to be in every part of mine, Delaney Reed. Even if that means I’m dragging you into a fight with a god.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good, because I’m out of ideas of how to deal with that problem. Shouldn’t have even tried to do it alone.”
“I’m not agreeing to the god stuff—I mean I am, of course I am—but I’m also saying yes.”
He blinked. Then he held up the box just a little. “To?”
“Yes. To that. To you being my husband. If I can be your wife.”
And oh, the smile he gave me as he stood, sand shushing off his suit.
He pulled the little gold ring from the box. He kissed it, his gaze on me. Then he placed the ring on my finger. His hand was shaking. My hand was shaking.
More than that, everything in me was shaking, tremors strumming through me like sheets of rain against window glass.
I was crying, the tears warm and swift, but my heart beat loud, louder than the ocean, so loud I didn’t know how the whole world couldn’t hear it.
Then Ryder Bailey leaned forward, tipping his face down, just as I lifted up.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips. I exhaled a small, held breath.
“I love you.” I kissed him, and he kissed me back, soft and promising at first, then his hands cupped my face, and I was sheltered there, in his kiss, in this private world created between us.
My hand slipped down to his butt, and I gave it a squeeze, eliciting a huff of laughter from him, before he doubled down and kissed me harder. Kissed the breath out of me, kissed the tremble away until I was lightness, I was air, I was joy.
The world was cheering. But that was far away, that was some other reality.
Mine, the real world, was the man smiling down at me, his hands still cradling my face.
“How’d I do?” he asked.
“Ten out of ten,” I whispered. “Want to go for eleven?”
“With you?” he asked. “Always.”
Then he kissed me to eleven.
Epilogue
It was a Sunday morning, and Ryder was not in bed. There was, however, a lot of noise coming from downstairs in the kitchen.
A lot of noise.
The oven door thumped open and closed, cast iron clattered, metal on metal scraped and whisked, then the downpour sizzle of eggs smacking a hot griddle.
I smelled pancakes, bacon, maple, and blueberry. I smelled coffee.
He was really outdoing himself down there.
But it wasn’t just cooking sounds that had woken me. Music was playing.
Loud.
Ryder was singing.
Louder.
It was a Beach Boys song, and he was really giving the “good vibrations” part of it all his lungs. He had a good voice, but I could tell he was distracted, because his voice faded now and then, and he started getting the words wrong.
I was so going to tease him about that.
I thought about going down there, but the bed was warm, and it looked like October had finally decided to get on with the rainy season, sending little claw-clicks of rain against the windows.
I was cozy. Content.
Cupboards opened and closed, dishes rattled, and the snap of burners turning off filled the air.
Another song came on, quieter and softer—“Work Song,” Hoizer, singing about the woman of his dreams.
I thought he’d call me down. Instead, I heard his bare feet on the stairs, the clink of dishes shifting as he made his way to our bedroom.
I rolled over so I could watch him walk into the room.
He pushed the door with his elbow, both his hands supporting the tray he was carrying, a carafe of coffee hooked on his fingers.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I said. I couldn’t stop smiling. He wore a pair of ratty athletic shorts and a T-shirt with da Vinci’s illustration of an archer shooting an arrow through a shield.
“Breakfast?” He lifted the tray a little.
“Did you make pancakes?”
“Nope. For my new fiancé, it’s waffles all the way.”
“Aw.” I sat and flipped the covers back, making room for him beside me. “What happens when we get married?”
“Then it’s Belgian waffles.�
�
I laughed and helped hold the tray, then set the coffee on the night stand while he settled into the bed next to me, mattress dipping under his weight.
“This is amazing,” I said, looking over the spread. He’d made waffles, scrambled eggs with basil and feta, sliced cherry tomatoes, sliced oranges, bacon, and a little pot of blueberry compote. Along with that was maple syrup, butter, and enough coffee to keep me happy for hours.
“Good enough for breakfast in bed?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed.”
“We’ll have to do something about that.”
“Maybe. Let’s see if these eggs hold up.” I took one of the plates he’d put together, handed him the other, and got busy adding the toppings I wanted. And coffee. He’d wisely brought up two of our biggest mugs. I filled them to the brim.
We ate in silence, other than the muffled sounds of appreciation, the rain on the window, and the music drifting up from downstairs.
Spud finally came into the room, yawning, and got a couple pieces of bacon for being a good boy and staying on the floor while we ate. Dragon pig was downstairs somewhere sleeping. I could hear its rumbling snore every now and then.
“So?” Ryder asked, mopping up blueberries and bacon with a fork full of waffle.
“I vote we make breakfast in bed a new Sunday tradition.”
He grinned. “Seconded. But what about when you’re working the weekend shift? Or I’m out of town?”
I sipped coffee, already on my second cup. There were still things we needed to work out, things we needed to say to each other. Maybe now was the time to start on that. I could ease into it. Slowly warm up to all the things I needed to say to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me Mithra was using you like a puppet?”
Okay, so much for slow and easy.
He crunched bacon and leaned his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
“I think it happened so infrequently that I thought I could just handle it. You have so much on your plate.”