by Rhea Watson
Breathless, I took a beat to compose myself, hoping that might cull the word-vomit, but I wasn’t the one driving this runaway train anymore.
No, that was the tricky bitch in my chest who beat loud and proud for three of Root Rot’s finest men.
“Control can be anxiety-based,” I told him. My colleagues always whispered about what a control freak Jack was, how whichever witch ended up his wife would be in for a lifetime of lists and schedules and rules. I liked all of that—so long as it didn’t stem from fear. “I get it. I can help with it if you want. You aren’t infallible, Jack, and I don’t see you as some god. You’re just a warlock who makes me happy. You can be silly with me. I want you to be free with me—to stop and smell the roses with me.”
“Want, want, want,” he rasped, his voice thick.
And trembling.
I blinked up at him in shock at the first wobble.
“You sound like a child,” Jack added, and there it was again: control. He had found it, but good to know I could make him lose it.
“And you sound like a dick.”
All things considered, that was probably the point. Try as he might to disguise it with a fight, Jack thought he was… no good for me.
He was worried about my reputation if I associated with him during these legal troubles.
He thought I could be happier without him, and if I was furious with him, maybe even hated him for sleeping with me and then telling me to piss off, it would be easier to walk away.
How annoyingly cliché.
Jack was better than that.
Despite knowing exactly what he was trying to do, tears still welled in my eyes and burned in my throat. It hurt. Thinking he knew what was best for me, that he could call the shots just because he had a few years on me, because he was once my boss and Dom, fucking hurt.
And when I hurt before, this stubborn warlock would hold me and make it stop.
Unfortunately, holding me seemed like the last thing on his mind when I marched over, determined to get right up in his personal space. Jack turned away immediately—walked away when I grabbed his arm, effortlessly shrugging me off. Where he was going was anyone’s guess given the size of the suite, but that worked in my favor.
Nowhere to run.
You have to fucking talk.
Never had role reversal bashed me so hard upside the head before: Jack had always tried to coax the pain out of me, desperate to understand why I came to him such a mess. Back then, cutting myself open and showing him my insides made me sick.
Tonight, I couldn’t see any way around it.
If only he would just get on the same fucking page already.
“You don’t get to decide this for me,” I insisted, darting around and stopping him dead in his tracks. As soon as my hands landed on his broad, toned chest, he flinched back; they fell to my sides again, still buzzing with the heat of his skin. “I choose you, Jack, just like I chose them. And I know…” The words tangled in my throat, uncertainty taking over as I gawked up at him, silently pleading with him not to stomp all over my heart for the sake of sparing it. “And I know you choose me, too. I see it in your eyes whenever we find each other again. You choose me.”
This time, he caught my hand when it went for him, cuffing me by the wrist and keeping me at an arm’s length.
“I don’t, Alecto,” he croaked. “I don’t choose you.”
No. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t his voice. Gone was the calm, confident baritone, replaced with this unrecognizable hardness that made the silky, rumbly velvet I adored aloof and hollow. Emotionless. Cold.
“Please collect your things and go.” He released my hand with no fanfare. “I… think it’s for the best.”
I blinked up at him, then clamped down on my lower lip to stop it from wobbling.
Why won’t you fight for us?
The thought fell like a sledgehammer, all the wind knocked out of me.
While seconds away from buckling, from folding over and sobbing into my hands, I stood tall, and despite the height difference, I almost felt taller than him.
“I know you like to play the sadist,” I whispered thickly, “but you’ve never struck me as cruel. You’re being cruel right now, Jack, and that’s not fair.”
He looked away, hardening to stone right before my eyes, his expression rigid and unreadable. Shaking, I pushed at his chest.
“And you need to be with someone who can call you that,” I told him, wishing my shove had done something—roused him, sparked the Dominant fire that blazed dangerously in his eyes whenever we played together. Nothing. “You need someone who cares enough about you, who respects you enough, to tell you when you’re fucking wrong.”
“Please go.” Jack closed his eyes when his voice cracked. “I’m cursed goods, little one. Get out before I infect you.”
“Oh my fucking gods, you martyr,” I growled under my breath. Sensing we weren’t going to get anywhere tonight, I flitted around the suite to collect my things, then clumsily got dressed, tearing my stockings in the process and tripping over my shoes. This wasn’t over by any stretch, but if we had already hit a brick wall, no point in continuing to pound our heads against it. Tomorrow, the next day, next week even, he might be open to reason. Walking away, as much as it pissed me off, felt like the mature thing to do.
But that didn’t make it any less painful.
It used to be so much easier, ditching some idiot boy at the first whiff of conflict.
The risks were so much higher when you decided to stay and fight.
And as I wrenched open the door, I was hell-bent on fighting for him. For us.
Because despite his thickheadedness tonight, Jack was worth it. Maybe no one had ever made him feel that way, and maybe, despite the effortless confidence and Dom prowess, he didn’t feel that way about himself, either.
I glanced back from the doorway and found him at the counter again, arms crossed, shoulders rounded, eyes down.
I see your worth, Jack Clemonte.
Shaking my head, I stepped over the threshold with a huff.
Even if you don’t.
Even if you’re being so—fucking—difficult about it.
“You’re such an idiot.” I used that as my farewell instead of goodbye. He flinched as if the words had struck him. Good. Hopefully they hurt enough to knock some sense into him.
“I know.”
I heard his rumble just before the door shut, and I slammed it for good measure. The dull roar downstairs quieted for a beat, then started up again, creeping along the dark stairwell and surrounding me on the landing.
Swaddling me as I stood there shaking.
As the angry, bitter tears cut down my cheeks.
Sniffling, I stormed off and left him to stew in his stupid reasoning, wishing I could have stayed and fought it out.
But as hurt as I was, I held my head up high knowing that I had survived the battle—and together, that warlock and I would eventually win the stupid war.
14
Gavriel
When the footfalls on the worn dirt path went left instead of right, headed my way instead of out to no-man’s-land, I exhaled sharply and stood. Fucking finally. At this point, Alecto’s nuances were a part of my expertise, a special skill I had honed over months, which was precisely why I knew that was her on the path, her tread familiar, her gait short but quick, her sad little hiking boots a daring choice to wear with that dress.
According to my Rolex, I’d sat out here on this fucking rock for roughly two hours—though I’d expected as much. My fury had been quite the frisky minx since our group tumble on Ostara last Saturday, and I detected desire in the air on our walk to the village. Horny little witch craved a visit with her warlock, and therefore, I had timed tonight’s smokes to last me a good while.
Nothing too heavy.
Nothing that would dull my senses or leave my mind hazy.
Just a little after-dinner chaser, a rich, soothing blend that suited the still March air
. Settled beneath a twinkling black sky, I’d worked my way through two full pipes since I left her at the Caladh village gates.
While Root Rot staff had an almost nostalgic fascination with the place, I failed to see the charm in a shantytown with only one pub and where the most happening spot was the post office, but whatever. Jack had chosen to start his exile inconspicuously; unexpected, actually, but if he settled here to be close to the academy—to her—I could somewhat respect that.
Still. If I had his bank account, I’d be shacked up somewhere with at least five stars and a hell of a turnover service.
Dumping the charred pipe remnants on the ground, I familiarized myself again with the time. We would be just pushing curfew if we set out on foot right now. With me, it hardly mattered if Alecto rocked up to the ward before or after midnight; I had helped craft the damn thing, the protective barrier shimmering over the castle a blend of warlock and fae magic courtesy of Hammond and myself. Security may bear temporary tattoos that acted like keys to the ward at their discretion, but I could come and go as I pleased.
After all, only the caster could truly manipulate a ward.
Still, Bjorn and I had agreed not to draw any extra attention Alecto’s way given the status quo. Our girl had been on Iris’s shit list for quite some time, steadily moving up the many, many names the longer she refused to indulge in the old ways. Whatever we could do to help her stay under the radar, we would.
I had no fear for myself, of course.
Bjorn neither. We didn’t partake in the caning of students, but we hovered near the bottom of the interim headmistress’s To Fuck With List because we were Root Rot staples.
And if some warlock cock tried to hex either of us for not following the rules, Bjorn could rip him apart with his bare hands, and I could turn him into a gnat with the snap of my fingers.
So.
Just try, assholes.
The attempt would be laughable.
Alecto, meanwhile, hovered on even footing with the security brutes, and we, as her lovers, conducted ourselves accordingly.
Especially with the Hammond-Corwin feud officially a go again.
The bastard hadn’t gotten anywhere near her on our watch, but I knew men like Benedict Hammond: obsessive, cruel, violent men who would stop at nothing to achieve their goal.
I’d thought myself one of them all these years.
Something about… falling, you know, in… whatever—it changed you.
Lifted the veil. Made you see things clearer.
Tucking my pipe into my jacket pocket, I wheeled around when it sounded like she was almost on top of me, her delectable scent caught on a gentle whoosh fluttering through the surrounding tall grasses. Tonight, vanilla mingled with Jack Clemonte’s masculine body scrubs, and I smirked, ogling her from the ground up.
My, my, ripped stockings.
Who had she grappled with in there—a rogue bear?
Very likely, given Jack was wound tighter than a—
The rising mirth burst the second I saw her face.
Her pink, tearstained cheeks.
Her bloodshot eyes.
Her damp, depressed curls and her downturned mouth.
She’s crying.
Rage unlike anything I had ever felt before roared to life somewhere deep inside, in the darker parts of my heart reserved for bloodlust and battle cries.
Why the fuck was she crying?
“What happened?” I demanded, taking her flushed face in both hands. Alecto winced, my grip unapologetically firm, then batted at my arm.
“Gavriel—”
“Who did this?” The inquiry snarled out of me, wild and unchecked, savage enough to make Alecto’s breath catch and her eyes widen. “Name him, fury.”
She squirmed as I brushed my jacket cuffs over her cheeks, wiping away the sorrow, unable to stand the sight of it on her.
“I’ll fucking kill him—”
“Oh my gods, Gavriel, stop.” Black peacoat misbuttoned, purse hanging loosely off her shoulder, one shoe untied, Alecto was a mess—but a strong one. Classic her. With a good shove at my chest, she managed to twist away and stumble back to dry her tears herself. Fine. I’d allow it—for now. “Jack and I… had a talk.”
She braced, as if waiting for some snide remark from yours truly.
And, you know, fair.
Because it was obvious they hadn’t just talked. By now, I also knew what a sex-rumpled Alecto looked like; this Alecto, all tears and sniffles and wobbling lips, was less familiar.
Without Bjorn, I… wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
My gut told me to lash out, make heads roll.
Instead, I rose to my full height with a deep breath, drawing on my vampire counterpart’s grounded aura to approach this as rationally as possible.
For now, anyway.
“Right.” I motioned to her stiffly. “And judging from the look of you, that talk was smooth as silk.”
Cue the obligatory huff.
The stormy silence.
The eye roll.
The fidgeting with her hair and some toe-scuffing at the dirt for good measure.
Then, finally, the story. Begrudgingly, Alecto offered a rundown of the conversation that followed a sudsy shower—which must have come after all the ravenous fucking, given her slight limp.
Trust Jack Clemonte to take something beautiful and ruin it with chivalry.
While I swallowed my opinions throughout the tale, I made no effort to hide my disdain for his behavior. By the time she finished, my jaw ached from the constant gnashes and my eyeballs were seconds from rolling straight back into my skull.
“Pretentious prat.”
“He’s… doing what he thinks is best,” Alecto insisted bitterly, arms crossed and gaze a million miles away. “Just leave it. Let’s go back—”
“No.” My growl startled her again, but no more than it startled me. Apparently, actual genuine feelings turned me into a snarly, possessive, protective beast. Fun. “This fucking git made you cry, and that’s just unacceptable, fury.” My hand shot up the second she started to protest. “Do you still want him?”
Need him. Love him, maybe.
“What?” Alecto balked, then scoffed at me again. “Yeah, duh. It’s just a dumb fight. People fight. We’ll figure it out.”
“Tonight,” I snarled, snatching her hand and yanking her close, my movements hard and fast enough to make her squeak. “You’ll figure it out tonight.”
“Gavriel—”
“There is enough nonsense happening back at the castle.” Seriously—I had no interest in a Jack Clemonte–shaped cloud looming over her for the next week on top of all the other shit we had to contend with. How tedious. “You’ll talk now.”
“Wait—”
My fury shrieked indignantly when I chucked her over my shoulder, her screams carrying on the wind as we blitzed back to the village with a burst of fae speed. While my wings lay dormant, hidden by magic and in desperate need of a stretch, I moved as if guided by them. Given today’s hump day status, the narrow cobblestone streets were predictably clear, the pub patrons scarce and scattered as I marched my argumentative fury inside. Her protests fell on deaf ears, and while I’d never deigned to darken Jack’s door personally, all it took was a single sweep of the cozy, underlit pub’s interior layout to spot the door leading to his rental.
As soon as said door swung shut behind us, Alecto finally conceded defeat, her hand hanging limply while I gripped her wrist and hauled her up the stairs.
My nose crinkled.
Really.
This place?
It smelled like mothballs and BO and beer and hay and—
Never mind. Never mind.
Not the point of this visit.
When my first curt knock at the door went ignored, I tried again with more knuckle.
Nothing.
“Gavriel, let’s just go,” Alecto whispered, her attempt at tugging me off the claustrophobic landing and down the stair
s a monumental failure. Still as a statue, rage sitting like a dumbbell on my chest, I allowed Jack five more precious seconds.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Then kicked the fucking door down.
Well, more shouldered the door open; the fragile thing just happened to fly off the hinges by accident, human locks useless against fae strength.
“Gavriel!”
Oh.
Oh, no, Jack—really?
I stumbled to a halt a few paces inside, instantly taken aback by the size of the place—by the poor quality of the furniture and the very sad kitchenette tucked into the corner. To my right, the warlock himself flew out of what I assumed was a bathroom, dressed down in grey sweats and a white tee, smelling of spearmint toothpaste and looking just as startled as Alecto sounded at my back.
Stars above, this was well and truly a hole.
“What—”
“You,” I growled, jabbing my finger Jack’s way, my fantasy of shutting him up finally come true, “made her cry.”
The warlock’s dark gaze slid from me to Alecto, and when he said nothing, offered no hint of remorse, I took a menacing step closer, floorboards creaking underfoot.
“Apologize this instant, Jack Clemonte.”
My former boss blanched at my tone, one that said this wasn’t a suggestion—more of a polite request if he didn’t want his balls punted into his throat. Alecto, meanwhile, stood partially behind me, arms limp at her sides…
Mortified.
Well, tough.
She and I had wasted enough time being thickheaded and stubborn; if he made her happy, I’d spare them both that pain, even if it meant doing it my way.