We ride hard through the twisting paths that lead out of Kasamere, Rue barely staying upright behind me despite his best efforts to maintain some dignity. His arms lock around my waist with surprising strength, his breathing shallow but steady against my back. His own horse follows behind us, tethered to mine and grateful for the slower pace. By the time we reach the outskirts of Briar Row, the moon has risen again, casting everything in silver light that makes the rain-slicked cobbled streets gleam like polished metal. The Dog & Dagger tavern glows like a beacon in the dark, warm light spilling from its windows and promising safety, warmth, and answers.
Lucky’s waiting on the front steps as if she sensed our approach, arms crossed over her chest and expression unreadable. Her collection of earrings flashes in the lamplight like tiny stars, and there’s a wicked-looking blade strapped across her hip, ready for trouble, as always.
“Well,” she says, eyeing us both with the practiced assessment of someone who’s seen too much violence, “you two look like death fucked a swamp and spat you out still breathing.”
“Nice to see you too, Lucky,” I mutter, sliding off the horse with movements that feel like those of a man three times my age.“Are they okay?” The question comes out before I can stop it, voice low but carrying more concern than I’m comfortable with.
Lucky raises one pierced eyebrow, clearly not used to me giving a damn about anything or anyone beyond my own survival. I’m sure she’s seeing me in an entirely new light, and part of me resents the vulnerability that implies.
She nods, stepping aside to let us pass into the warm glow of the tavern. “The woman’s awake and pacing like a caged wolf herself. The actual wolf’s been all growly and protective. I patched him up from those poisoned arrows, but he’s a shifter so he’s healing fast enough. She needed rest but now she’s worried out of her mind about you, wearing grooves in my floorboards with all that anxious energy. But they’re alive and whole.” She pauses, expression growing serious. “I’ve been watching the roads, though. You won’t be able to stay here much longer. Word’s spreading, and not the good kind.”
“Good. We won’t impose any longer than necessary. I won’t bring this shit to your door, friend.” I exhale hard, feeling my shoulders relax for the first time in hours. The weight of constant vigilance lifts slightly, replaced by gratitude so profound it takes me by surprise. “You’ve done more than enough already. I’m in your debt.”
Rue sags against me with renewed dramatics now that safety is within reach. “Lucky, darling, beautiful savior of my sadly abused person, fix me. I’m utterly broken and in desperate need of your tender ministrations.”
“Oh, you’ve been broken for years, sweetheart,” she says dryly, catching him as I transfer his weight to her capable hands. “This is just cosmetic damage. Nothing a few stitches and some harsh truths won’t cure.”
She hauls him toward the back of the tavern, barking orders to one of her girls to take care of the horses and make sure they’re fed and watered. I don’t wait around to see him settled,I’m already taking the stairs two at a time, drawn by an urgency I can’t quite name.
The door to my room creaks open before I can raise my hand to knock, as if she’s been listening for my footsteps on the stairs.
Esme stands there in the doorway, barefoot and wild-haired, wearing clothing that Lucky must have found for her. Her hair is damp and tangled from sleep or worry, and her eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion and something that might be tears. She stares at me like I’m a ghost, like she can’t quite believe I’m real and standing in front of her.
“I thought—” she starts, voice cracking with emotion she’s been holding back. “It’s been two days, Locke. Two days of not knowing if you were alive or dead or captured or?—”
I step inside without invitation, suddenly needing to be closer to her than the doorway allows. “I’m here,” I say, and the words feel inadequate for the relief I can see written across her face.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause to think or weigh the wisdom of her actions. She throws herself into my arms with the kind of desperate trust that makes my chest tight, and I catch her despite being too weary to be caught off guard by anything. This is what I wanted most as I rode hard through the forest, dodging and fighting off attackers. To stand here with her arms wrapped tight around me, to know that my efforts meant something beyond mere survival.
I bend my head and bury my face in her hair, holding her so tight my bruised ribs ache in protest. She smells like Lucky’s signature herbal soap, safety, warmth, and everything I never knew I needed until I almost lost it.
“You smell like rot and blood and forest,” she mutters into my neck, but there’s laughter threading through her voice now, relief making her giddy.
“You smell like flowers and home, Starlight. Don’t complain about my condition, just hold me.” The endearment slips out before I can stop it, but I don’t regret it. Not anymore.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands immediately beginning a thorough inspection, tracing over my jaw, my throat, my chest, as if checking to make sure I’m real and whole and not some fevered hallucination born of worry and hope.
“You’re okay?” she whispers, fingers finding every cut and bruise with unerring accuracy.
“I am now,” I say, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything in years. After seeing her dragged into Lake Mavria’s depths, watching her nearly drown, witnessing the lightning strike that scorched her arm as she rode that impossible waterspout. I’m in awe of this woman’s strength and fucking terrified for her safety all at the same time.
I kiss her, because why not, because the gloves are off and we’re in this together now, whatever ‘this’ turns out to be. Because life is short and uncertain and I’m tired of denying what we both feel. Me, Esme, and even the wolf, we’re bound together by more than circumstance now.
Speaking of the wolf, Sam leans against the wall near the bed, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he’s been standing guard this entire time. “Took you long enough,” he says, but there’s relief in his voice too.
“Miss me?” I smirk, falling back into familiar patterns of deflection and humor.
He shrugs with studied casualness. “I missed the silence, actually. You’re surprisingly loud when you’re not around.”
We laugh, all of us, just for a breath, a flicker of something soft and normal in the midst of all this chaos.
I’m about to drag myself toward the small washbasin in the corner, desperate to clean off the worst of the blood andgrime, when Rue bursts through the door without knocking. He flops dramatically into the room’s single chair, groaning with theatrical flair. His shoulder is now properly cleaned and bandaged, I notice with relief, and some color has returned to his cheeks.
“Well, if it isn’t the happy little trio,” he announces, surveying us with bright eyes that miss nothing.
I arch a brow at his remarkably quick recovery. “Didn’t you just tell Lucky you were dying a slow and tragic death?”
He waves me off dismissively. “I am, obviously. But first, I have news that couldn’t possibly wait, and this development can’t be delayed even for the sake of my dramatic demise. So put your touching reunion on hold for just a moment.”
