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“I know you want to throttle Lucien,” I start, tapping my fingers against her wrist where I still hold her. “And to be clear, I would personally pay good money to watch you lay him flat.”

Her brows lift warily, already knowing I’m winding up to something.

“But,” I drawl, drawing out the syllable like a weapon, “what you don’t seem to realize, my little feral thing, is that man is currently bleeding out his pride all over this cathedral. And it’s ugly.”

Luna crosses her arms, chin tipping up defiantly. “That’s not my problem.”

I lean in closer, lowering my voice, letting it curl around her like smoke. “It is when you’re the one holding the knife.”

She blinks, thrown, and I soften the grin just enough to pull her off-balance. “I’ve known Lucien since the earth cracked open and spat me out, and believe me when I say, he’s the roughest bastard you’ll ever meet. Like swallowing glass and liking the taste.”

Her lips twitch despite herself, and I press the advantage.

“But that man?” I nod toward where Lucien lingers by the entrance, pretending not to watch her every move. “He would cut out his own spine before asking you to forgive him again. He doesn’t know how. You think you’ve cornered the market on stubborn? He wrote the damn manual.”

She exhales sharply, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh she doesn’t want me to hear.

I squeeze her wrist once, deliberately gentle now. “You’ve got all of us orbiting you like moths to flame, darling. But he’s the one who stood in the fire first.”

When she doesn’t immediately argue, I lean back, tossing her a lazy grin to cover the fact that my chest aches a little seeing her like this—torn between her own bruised pride and something softer she doesn’t want to admit.

“If you want, I can list his finer qualities for you,” I add innocently. “He's got excellent cheekbones. A voice made for threats and filthy promises. A truly alarming number of sharp weapons hidden on his person at all times.”

Luna snorts despite herself, shaking her head like I’m impossible.

I lean in one last time, dropping my voice until it’s just for her. “He’s a bastard, flower. But he’s your bastard now, whether either of you like it or not.”

Before she can argue, I wink, brushing my thumb along her wrist like I’m sealing a promise. “Think about it.”

And then I step back, leaving her standing there, alone with the knowledge that Lucien Virelius—the man who never bleeds—is bleeding for her.

Because if anyone is going to drag those two prideful idiots together by the throat, it’s me.

It hits me like a brick to the face halfway back to Elias. One of those obnoxious, stupidly loud epiphanies that makes my brain itch because suddenly I know exactly what I need to do—and it is delicious.

Matchmaker.

I don’t mean the sweet, well-meaning, meddling aunt type. No, no. I mean the absolute shit-stirrer, the chaos agent, the guy who is going to shove two people into a room and lock the door untilthey either kill each other or fuck each other senseless. I’ve been living for this moment my entire damn life and now it’s right in front of me.

My grin curls sharp as I slow my steps, falling in line beside Elias, who’s walking like someone shoved a stick so far up his ass he forgot how to bend at the knees. His jaw is set, his eyes darting past the others as they cross the cathedral threshold, glued to her—the girl who’s already his.

He feels me coming before I say a word. Elias always does. He groans without looking at me. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I murmur innocently, which is always, always a sign that I’m about to do something catastrophic.

“Whatever scheme is brewing behind those feral little eyes of yours.” He casts me a look like I’m the devil incarnate. I take it as a compliment.

I lean in closer, voice pitched low and sweet, all sugar-coated trouble. “I’ve decided, Elias, that I’m going to fix this.”

He arches a brow, deadpan. “What ‘this’ exactly?”

“The glacial war zone between our fearless, dickheaded leader and our favorite little binder. Obviously.” I glance ahead, where Luna is laughing at something Riven said, sunlight hitting her face like the gods themselves are giving me permission to worship her. “She’s miserable. He’s miserable. And I am absolutely not going to stand by and let them waste all this delicious mutual hatred without forcing them into something wildly inappropriate.”

Elias groans again, pinching the bridge of his nose like I’ve physically pained him. “Silas. No.”

“Oh, Elias.” I clap a hand over my chest like he’s wounded me. “When have I ever stayed out of anything?”

“That’s the problem,” he mutters.