"What part ofnodon't you Amato guys get?"
"Ask our keeper. She might even empathize with you there."
Fat chance of that. They say Amato's daughter got her heart back, but I'll believe that when she starts acting human.
"Whatever," I grumble, hanging up on Everett.
Taking a deep breath, I let a slight amount of my slowly recovering magic fill me—just enough healing that the migraine starting to form in my head finally takes a backseat. Then I glower at Silas.
"Let's get this over with."
The prodigy caster apparently has no trouble with back-to-back transportation spells, because mere seconds later, I find myself in Everett's office. In their house.
In the Nether.
"I fucking hate you guys," I tell them. "You know I don't like coming back here."
Silas Crane ignores me completely, glancing at Everett with a slight frown. Nothing is said, but I've seen these kinds of silent interactions before. Unlike some strong quintets, they don't bother trying to hide the fact that their quintet communicates telepathically all the time—something I'm sure plenty of legacies are jealous of.
Legacies treasure a strong, gods-bound quintet like what the Amatos have above everything else. Finding the people who complete your soul, platonic or not. Getting more powerful together over time.
Me? I gave up on chasing that dream sometime before I got to my fourth Seeking. I skipped the last couple, because there's only so many times I can handle getting a metaphorical "stay single, buddy,”from the gods.
Now, whenever people grow a pair, they ask if I'm secretly a saint. Celibate for the sake of some heavenly mission, or some shit like that.
So fuck it. If the gods want me to be with anyone in particular, they're going to have to drop those matches right on my doorstep. I've been fine with random, sporadic one-night stands, the occasional orgy, and a handful of casual first dates for years. Romance is for suckers, and no one's ever caught my eye in any way that counts.
Dev is the only one I'm missing. As soon as this dumbass accepts that I'm not doing whatever this job is, I'm going to go to bed and hope I wake up with that big oaf drooling all over me.
"If you're done with your silent conversation, I have places to be," I grumble at them.
Silas leaves without another word, and the scarred ice elemental finally leans against his desk, facing me. I was right about him being on the brink of a breakdown. He looks more exhausted and stressed than I've seen him for a while—and hang on…is his shirt buttoned wrong?
His white hair is unusually messy, too.
Okay, something's seriously wrong. Frost is usually such an OCD perfectionist.
"What's the job?" I demand, getting more impatient the longer he seems to carefully consider his words.
Finally, Everett meets my eye, his voice quiet. "I want to hire you as a bodyguard for my sister."
Whoa.
Back up.
"Yourwhat now?"
"My sister. The one I sent you out looking for during the Upheaval, with her scent on a coat for your hellhound to track. Elise Murley?" he finally reminds me, dropping that vaguely familiar name like it should have been obvious.
I continue to stare at him, dumbfounded. "Murley, not Frost. You never mentioned she was your sister—or that you had a sister at all."
"Does that matter now? You'll start as her bodyguard tomorrow.”
All it takes is picturing Everett with makeup, tits, and long white hair, and revulsion has me pulling a face.
“Oh, hell, no. The last thing I need is another Frost in my life. Don't forget, I've met your family—you're all fucking insane."
"My parents and I, yes. My sister, no," he says, his voice softening slightly as he rubs his tired eyes. "Heidi's nothing like me."
