“You prick. I’ll—mmph!”
Connor slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of his tirade. Reggie thought of biting him, until Connor met his gaze, and he saw the cold seriousness of his gaze. Had he laughed, cracked a joke, and mocked Reggie’s anger, he could have maintained his righteous indignation. But the hard steel of Connor’s look made him want to shrivel up and cover his head.
His voice was gentle, though, when he said, “Reg. You’re having a fit.”
Reggie bristled on principle. He wanted to argue. Wanted toscream.
But Connor had this way of being so rarely serious, and being infuriatingly right in a way that Reggie needed in moments like this. He was a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea when Reggie was most adrift, and so more than preserving his pride, he wanted to grab hold with both hands. Hewashaving a fit.
Connor watched him a moment, and then peeled his hand away. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Don’t you dare coddle me,” he said, but without any heat. He stayed on his feet, but leaned into the touch when Connor gripped his shoulder. “How are you keeping so calm about this?”
“Because one of us has to, and I knew it would need to be me.”
“I hate you,” Reggie said, weakly. And then, “Amelia’sgone.”
“She is,” Connor agreed, calm and grim. “And wherever she went, we can’t follow.”
“But we…” All his bluster, the painful, hectic energy that had been crowding his lungs since he first saw Amelia fall, rushed out of him in one huge exhale. “Gods. I know. You’re right. I hate it when you’re right…but you are.”
Connor stepped in closer, and his grip moved from Reggie’s shoulder to the back of his neck, and squeezed. “We all like Amelia.” He made a brief, telling face. “Mostly. But between you and me,” he lowered his voice, “you’re not upset that she’s gone, not really.”
Reggie blinked at him. “You’re the worst man alive, do you know that?”
In answer, Connor arched a single brow, daring him to make a real argument.
“All right, fine.” Reggie flapped his hands against his sides. “I’m not heartbroken, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Now that he was no longer actively hyperventilating, it was easier to parse the sources—plural—of his crippling panic…and, to a lesser extent, his outrage with Leif.
He sighed, and if he leaned into the weight of Connor’s hand at the back of his neck, he now knew that Connor wouldn’t tease him about needing comfort and support.
“The drakes were our one advantage,” he lamented. “I thought that, with them, this might not be a suicide mission.”
“Oh, it’s a suicide mission either way, definitely,” Connor said with a rueful half-smile. “But don’t say ‘were.’ We still have the drakes.”
Reggie snorted, and then saw that he was serious. “No. We don’t.”
“They’re still here, aren’t they?” Connor gestured overhead, where the females were broadening their circles,spiraling out farther on each pass, still scouring the ground for their mistress. “They didn’t go with Amelia.”
“Because they couldn’t. If Leif is to be believed, she got sucked through one of those bloody holes in the air, and they couldn’t follow. But she’s the Drake. She’s the one who can communicate with them. When she doesn’t return, they’ll likely fly off, never to be seen again.”
“Or…”
Reggie didn’t like the way his head tilted, leading him to some foregone conclusion.
“Or what?”
“You could ride them.”
Reggie blinked some more. “I’m surrounded by fools.”
“Not them, as in all of them,” Connor said, “but the one. The girl one. Your pet.”
“Valencia is not mypet. She’s no one’s pet.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Battle steed, then, if you prefer. My point is, you’ve bonded with her. She likes you.”
“Her tolerating my presence is no replacement for the psychic bond that Amelia—”
