Page 64

TWO MONTHS LATER

ROMAN

“You look fine,” Nico says from where he sits on Margot’s sofa, not even bothering to look up from the game on his phone.

He just got back from his latest failed attempt to find Kayla and rescue her from the demons who took her.

He’s pissed off and tired, and I don’t even know why he’s here. I told him not to come.

“Are you sure about that tie?” Margot asks as she emerges from her bedroom, dressed in a form-fitting, wine-red dress.

It cinches at the sides and reveals a lot of thigh, and I don’t know if it’s appropriate for this.

She tosses a lightweight cardigan on her arm before pulling her phone from a tiny purse that doesn’t have a strap.

Which I find strange and altogether useless. “We’re going to be late.”

“Gwyn hasn’t even left,” I argue, but Nico laughs and I’ve lost before I’ve even begun.

“That girl will be late to her own funeral,” Nico says, sounding like Father Time himself.

“It will take us less than five minutes to get down there. I’m not worried,” I say, recalling the last time I was in the grand ballroom a dozen stories below. I doubt this affair will be any less bloody. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I pop a breath mint into my mouth anyway.

It’s not that I’ve stopped smoking entirely, but the mints make me think of Remy.

Like most days, I wish he was here. It hurts a little worse on special days though.

And this one is pretty fucking special. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps he waited for me to confess my love for Gwyn before he took his own life.

Like he needed to know I’d be alright because I’d have her.

“Do you have your speech memorized?” Nico asks.

“What speech?” I reply, shooting him a grin when he finally looks up at me.

Margot makes a sound before shoving her things back into that stupid little purse. “They’re already down there. Gwyn just didn’t bring her phone.”

“Well, shit,” I say, and before she has a chance to heckle me about it, “You were right. The tie is fine though, right? Gwyn said the blue makes my…”

I trail off, but it’s too fucking late when I find Margot’s giant dopey face, smiling wide, about an inch away from mine.

“The blue makes your eyes pop?” Margot finishes the sentence, obnoxious as usual.

“Is it fine?” I ask, exasperated as she reaches over to adjust it.

“I don’t think anyone will actually care about the tie,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “Now, we are really going to be late. I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck for you to show up after her.”

“You just made that up,” Nico says, unfolding his long body from the couch and adjusting his own tie before leading the way out the door. “I’m sure your speech is adequate,” he mocks, trying to make me nervous.

Jokes on him though, because I’ve never been more fucking sure of anything.

A few minutes later, when we’re stepping out of the rear elevator—far from all the guests—all I want is to see Gwyn. I think I catch a glimpse of her, but the people surrounding her block my view.

Hale is wearing a bright blue suit, and I’m sure Gwyn will be pleased that it matches my tie.

Sasha walks up to them, holding a drink.

She’s wearing a matching blue dress, and I refuse to make eye contact when she looks over.

Half of our genetic makeup is the same, and that’s all it is.

I don’t want to talk about it, even though she seems keen to.

Gwyn says it’s not what I think, that I should just talk to her. But I can’t. I’ve only ever been a brother to one person, and now he’s gone. I’m nobody’s brother.

Hale steps aside when he sees me, interrupting Agnarr and Gwyn’s conversation with a gentle nudge to her arm.

Her long, recently dyed, black hair has a slight curl to it, sleek and shiny and hanging loosely down her back.

The tulle dress she wears is a rich, creamy color, with puffy, off the shoulder sleeves.

It’s a similar design to the dress she wore when she ate my father’s heart, although that dress had been blue, and I wonder if she suggested we all wear blue today on purpose.

This gown is floor length, billowing out and dragging on the ground behind her as she moves.

I don’t know what kind of makeup Hale did for her, but she’s glowing.

Or maybe that’s just her. Her lips are painted a bright red that reminds me of apples, and I breathe deep just to catch her scent.

“Gwyn,” I say in greeting, offering her my arm.

“Elskan mín,” she replies, greeting me with a kiss to the cheek.

Threading her arm through mine, I lead her away from the others.

With members of Ketill’s former coven here to visit, it’s going to take everyone a while to find their seats.

Judging by the noise inside, we’ve got plenty of time, so I guide her slowly toward the doors we’ll enter from.

“That was good,” I say. “You’re a natural.”

“Don’t lie,” she says, pinching the area between my thumb and forefinger. “You’ll have to speak for us if we ever go to Iceland.”

“I’m not much better,” I admit, leaning against a pillar while we wait. “Your tutor has put us on pretty even footing.”

“Yeah.” Her perfect lips form a perfect pout. “Do you…do you think this is weird?”

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s so fucking weird,” I answer immediately.

“It’s what he wants,” she says leaning against me. “Is it what I want though?”

Gently, I brush her hair off her face. “I’m pretty sure you said—just yesterday, in fact—that you can’t wait to ‘permanently cosplay as Akasha, Queen of the Damned, Aaliyah’s version, obviously,’” I say, forming air quotes with my fingers.

“May she rest in peace,” she laughs as she stands on tiptoes to nip at my lips. “Shut up. I clearly only meant the rose petal bathtub scene.” She blushes, thinking about exactly what I did to her on the edge of said bathtub.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t love calling ourselves royalty, but, I mean, what else is there? This isn’t a democracy.” She sighs, hanging her head. “You know, Agnarr would have probably been a decent leader. This feels like a waste.”

“You’ll be better, ma petite cafarde,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she jolts away from me almost immediately.

“You said you’d tell me today if I remembered! As a gift!” she shouts, grinning because she didn’t forget.

“It’s silly,” I say, feeling the tips of my ears turning red. “Something my mom used to say.”

“Well, out with it,” Gwyn demands, tugging at my tie, scarlet lips arched in a pretty smile.

She’s been so fucking playful the last few weeks.

Sure, she still has moments of melancholy that she seems afraid won’t pass, but she’s finally in therapy that she says is actually working.

We found a therapist who happens to be a witch as well, so she can share her world without fear.

It won’t fix her—because she’s not broken.

But I think it’s helping.

Fuck, it’s probably helping me too. Everything she shares helps me frame Remy’s death in a new light. I’m still angry, but I don’t blame anyone anymore. Not me, not him, not Gwyn when I was feeling particularly sad. Remy had a tragic life, and it got too hard. That’s all it is.

“You know how people say ‘don’t have a cow’ when someone is upset?” I ask.

“Yes?” she says, grin widening.

“It’s a saying like that, so it doesn’t quite translate. Avoir le cafard—to have a cockroach—is a phrase my mother used. It’s like saying someone has the blues. When someone has a cockroach, they’re…sad.”

Gwyn’s smile softens, and she takes my hand in hers. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It’s really sweet.”

“Well, it worked both ways because you were also a cockroach that just wouldn’t die,” I say, unwilling to let her gloat over a nickname she thinks is cute.

“Shh, I can’t hear you,” she says, dragging me toward the doors. “That’s Queen Cockroach to you, by the way.”

I’m still laughing a few minutes later as we’re walking to the dais and Agnarr welcomes everyone in attendance.

And I’m trying not to smile when I make my speech about her leadership skills.

I sound an awful lot like I’m praising a dog’s newly learned tricks when I call her ‘quite clever when she wants to be,’ but it makes her laugh.

And when she reaches into Agnarr’s chest and pulls out his heart, I’m in awe of the knowledge that this woman is my mate.

Smart and strong and full of tenacity, I get to call her mine.

Full of audacity too, I decide, when she shoves a piece of Agnarr’s heart into my mouth.

Sealing it with a kiss, I’m forced to chew and swallow it or vomit on stage in front of our newly combined coven.

As Agnarr’s blood stains the front of her dress, and the man grows cold on the ballroom floor, I pull her close and whisper in her ear.

“You’re going to pay for that later.”

GWYN

“I can go stay in the greystone while it’s on the market. That way you don’t have to keep sleeping on Margot’s couch,” I say. “I know it’s crowded when Nico’s back.”

“Or, Gwyn, I could move into the fucking penthouse and sleep beside my mate where I belong. My patience is wearing thin,” he says as he shoves me against the wall in the foyer. Zuul huffs a sleepy bark from the spare bedroom, likely sprawled across the entire thing, but he doesn’t come greet us.

Definitely for the best.

Dipping low, Roman licks the blood off my chest. He bites at the flesh just above my collarbone, and I hiss.

Tipping my head back against the wall, I close my eyes as he gently laves the blood from my skin before he pulls down the front of my dress.

I groan, unable to think of my argument as his tongue swirls around my nipple.

When he bites just above it, I arch into his touch and cry out. The welcome pain sets me back on track.

“David says we’re mutually trauma bonded, Roman.”