Page 32 of Savage Blood (Den of Shadows #6)

Chapter

Twenty-One

“How much hot sauce?” I lifted the bottle and shook it.

Dylan, standing next to me at the sizeable island in the Anderses’ kitchen, shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

Saint dropped me off in Mohan Wilds yesterday while he went to Blackwater Falls.

Instead of leading his pack, he was spending all his time in Silver Ridge with me.

We were becoming too close, and after the other night, when he slept in my bed while Fane seethed in the corner, I needed space to think.

To think about what, exactly?

Fane was bound and determined to make sure Saint healed me, if possible, and the young alpha was all too willing to try. That left me stuck between my fated mate and my actual mate.

“But you’re the master at these brownies.” I bumped my shoulder against Dylan’s—more like his bicep, since the kid was now taller than me. “How much do you add?”

Grinning, he plucked the bottle from my grasp and dumped several splashes into the glass bowl of chocolate batter. Our eyes met, his shining with mischief, and he tossed in a couple more drops.

I bounced on the balls of my feet, imagining the sweet and spicy flavor. “These are going to be so freaking amazing.”

Nora chuckled as she stood at the other end of the island, seasoning a platter of meat. The afternoon sun streaming in through the window above the large farmhouse sink cast a golden halo around the caramel strands of hair framing her shoulders.

“Make sure you don’t mix those dangerously hot treats with the regular ones,” she said. “We don’t need people passing out at the bonfire from a spice overdose.”

“We’ll be careful,” I promised, stirring the batter with a wooden spoon.

The pack was hosting one of its regular bonfires tonight for the full moon. Even though some shifters would hunt for their food tonight, plenty would still enjoy the grilled and smoked meat, delectable sides, and desserts.

I, for one, could not wait for Dylan’s hot brownies with candied bacon and jalapenos. His spicy chocolate chip cookies were also on my list of must-haves tonight.

Dylan returned to chopping pecans as a smirk tugged at his lips. “It couldn’t hurt to slip a cookie in there just for Marissa.”

A laugh bubbled out of my mouth. “That would be entertaining.”

“You guys,” Nora chided, sprinkling garlic onto the meat. “Don’t terrorize her. Camus has enough going on with Reese. We don’t need to add a meltdown from Marissa to his worries.”

The back door opened, and Ephraim walked in, wiping sweat from his forehead and brushing damp copper hair from his face. Pieces of grass stuck to his pants and bare arms, and a few specks of it lingered in his thick beard.

“Maybe just terrorize her a little.” Fane’s uncle squeezed his thumb and index finger together.

His wife threw him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t encourage the children, dear. They’re too young and impressionable.”

“Young and impressionable?” Ephraim scoffed. “Dylan is well on his way to becoming a master at sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. And Tate…?”

I’d soared past young and impressionable by twelve.

“Tate is our perfect little angel,” Ephraim said before pressing a kiss to Nora’s cheek.

I chuckled. “Angel of destruction, maybe.”

Nora tsked and grabbed the saltshaker. “Nonsense. You’re our little angel—just with really sharp teeth and claws.”

“Did I hear someone call me?” Preston shut the front door with his foot and jogged into the living room. “I am the angel of the family.”

Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, dampened his blonde hair, and soaked his UGA t-shirt. He tossed the basketball between his hands before dribbling it on the shiny hardwoods.

“More like the hellion of the family.” Ephraim snatched a pecan from Dylan’s cutting board.

Preston’s jaw dropped. “Take that back. I’m perfect.”

“Perfectly annoying,” Dylan muttered.

A genuine smile pulled at my lips as warmth twisted in my chest. Being in Mohan Wilds around the Anders family made me feel like I wasn’t the worst person in the world. I had a family. At least I did for now.

Preston tossed the ball onto a chair at the large kitchen table and shortened the distance between us. “Give me a hug. ”

I grimaced as he wrapped his sweaty arms around me. “Ugh! Go take a shower. You stink.”

“So do you,” he grumbled, pulling away.

My head jerked back. Then I lifted my shirt and sniffed it. “No, I don’t.”

“You smell like Saint Grimstone.” Preston stole a chocolate chip before sauntering to the massive stainless-steel fridge. “Fane’s scent is still there, but it’s buried beneath Saint’s.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I diverted my gaze from Preston to the brownie batter. “We’ve just been spending a lot of time together.”

Nora’s faint growl, directed at her eldest, sounded through the kitchen, and she threw a piece of onion at him. “We know, sweetheart, and we understand why you and Saint are spending so much time together.”

All the warmth and humor drained out of me, and I longed to bury my head beneath the counter. Would the Anderses never speak to me again if my fated mate bond with Saint drove Fane away?

Dylan wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “My brother’s an idiot with absolutely no tact.”

But he was right.

“I know it’s not your choice,” Preston said, grabbing a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge. “Saint seems to enjoy it, though.”

The hint of bitterness in his words was unmistakable.

Ephraim laughed. “Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he enjoy spending time with Tate? We all do.”

Preston poured the juice into a glass and returned the pitcher to the fridge. “My cousin is thick-headed and stubborn, but he’s not handling this as well as he wants everyone to believe. ”

“Preston,” Nora warned, shaking her head.

“What?” He tossed his hand in the air. “Fane’s going to lose her if he keeps pushing her toward Saint. And I don’t want to see that happen. I like Tate. She’s family.”

Knots fisted in my chest. “I don’t want that, either, but Fane’s not really giving me much of a choice. And after what happened with Hawk…”

Preston set his glass on the counter. “He only did that to save you. You are his first priority. Everyone else is second. Everyone, even us. And that’s how it should be.”

“Fane is kind of losing it,” Dylan muttered and removed his arm from my shoulders. “He destroyed a bunch of paintings in his art studio the other day.”

“What paintings?”

Dylan shrugged. “I’m not brave enough to find out. He’s barred anyone from entering that room.”

I set the spoon in the bowl and wiped my hands on a towel. “Fane can be mad all he wants if he finds out I snooped in there.”

The moment I stepped into Fane’s art studio upstairs, his scent overwhelmed my senses, and I inhaled it like a drug. Warmth enveloped me, sinking through my bloodstream. The urge to curl up on the buttery leather couch and drown in his presence tugged at my muscles.

I’d done it plenty of times before, when Kaspin’s spell still had a grip on him and he wanted to kill me. We finally broke that old witch’s spell, and Fane and I should have been happy.

But something always kept us apart.

A blank canvas sat on the easel in front of the window, and no fresh splatters of paint stained the drop cloth on the floor beneath it. I walked the perimeter of the room, peering at the familiar scenic paintings on the walls .

A sheet-covered stack in the corner caught my attention, and I knelt before it, pulling the fabric off.

My pulse spiked as the first torn painting emerged, and I fingered the rips in the canvas like claws had shredded it.

Once I fitted the scraps together, the scene finally took shape.

A pair of familiar tattooed hands—Fane’s—gripped the metal railing of a balcony.

Bright lights shone above, and the crowd below, painted in shapeless blurs, surrounded the only clear figure.

Me.

The air catapulted out of my lungs as I recognized Wrath & Ruin, or more specifically, the moment Fane and I first laid eyes on each other.

Was he remembering?

The witches said he might never recover his memories.

My hands shook as I moved the canvas aside and discovered another shredded painting that depicted a worn, exhausted Fane lying in a bed, watching over me while I slept next to him. Cuts and bruises littered my face, my neck, and the arm sticking out of the covers.

His worry pulsated from the sorrowful brushstrokes and swirled in the cool, somber colors.

I pressed my fingers to my mouth. This was the night I nearly died fighting those agrigons and a royal demon in Mohan Wilds. They said Fane had never left my side.

When I unveiled the next painting, I fell back on my ass, and my lungs threatened to cave in. Logan’s lab in Vlehull erupted over the canvas in muted grays and whites while Fane and I, in the center, were a splash of intense, vibrant colors colliding together.

His thick, powerful arms embraced me as his mouth latched onto my throat, my expression showing dichotomies of emotions .

Bliss and pain.

Fear and safety.

Tears burned in my eyes as I ran my fingers over the destroyed canvas and traced the lines of our tangled bodies.

This was one of the worst moments of my life.

At least I used to think it was.

When Fane sank his teeth into my neck to give me the shifter bite, I’d hated him and cursed the day we met. But that fury faded as we melded together and connected in a way I still didn’t understand. I saw him, the real Fane, for those few moments, and I didn’t want to let go.

We were the same—broken and full of pain. And lonely.

So fucking lonely.

But for the first time, we weren’t alone. We had each other.

Our bond manifested in that moment, the last moment we would ever be alone because the link between us wouldn’t allow us to part.

Maybe the bond had formed from our longing, our desire to be seen and loved by someone who would never toss us aside because of our darkness and pain.