Conroy did anyway. “Yes?”
“Wrong answer. That’s the sort of stupid behaviour that gets youandme killed.” She turned to Kit and Quin. “I apologise on his behalf. He won’t be doing it again, because he knows what’s good for him.”
Kezia chose that point to sit up, her neck still bent at an unnatural angle. She wailed as it cracked, her broken bones healing.
Roxy spared her a glance. “Oh, good. You’re right on time for my lecture.”
Conroy went to help Kezia, but Tati didn’t spare her companion a glance. Instead, she aimed considerable ire at Kit and Quin.
Roxy clapped her hands, demanding their attention. “Now, I need a vow from each of you that you’ll not attempt to maim or kill one another from here on out.”
“Rox—” Conroy started, but she didn’t humour him.
“Conroy, I swear to Mother Earth that I’ll cut up all of your cravats if you don’t do what I say.”
Conroy’s gasp of indignation was so dramatic that—despite everything—Kit snorted a surprised laugh into Quin’s fur.
Kit shuffled out from behind Quin, who growled softly but didn’t seek to stop him. “I can’t tell whose side you’re on,” he said. “Why do you wish to avoid having them kill us?”
Roxy’s voice was softer when she responded. “You’re not part of a nest, are you?”
Kit shook his head.
“Have you ever met a witch before?” she asked.
“Not until now.”
“That would explain it. I’m tethered to Conroy. Been that way for a couple hundred years. Keeps me young, and also stops this mudak from taking me out of the equation.”
“Which Roxy knows I wouldn’t do,” Conroy said, cutting in. “Even when she calls me a shithead.”
“If you don’t want my sister to call you a shithead, don’t act like a shithead,” Xavier said. Despite his words, he sounded bored with the back and forth. Now that Xavier had confirmed the relationship between him and Roxy, it seemed obvious to Kit. The siblings held themselves in the same manner—poised and confident, like they were completely in control.
Which, Kit supposed, was the case. Yet, he still couldn’t figure out the precise dynamics at play. “Would you be dead if Quin killed Conroy?” he asked Roxy.
“Correct. I also don’t want to face the wrath of a werewolf pack hellbent on revenge. A war between a pack and a nest only ends in bloodshed.” She gave a little shake of her head. “There’s so much mess to clean up afterwards.”
“So, you can’t be arsed with the drama, and that’s why we’re all going to kiss and make up?” Kit asked. Quin growled, and Kit patted him soothingly on the head. “Don’t worry,” he whispered into Quin’s large, furry ear, “I’m not interested in kissing anyone but you.”
Quin chuffed.
Roxy gave Kit an approving smile. “Now we agree. And to prevent us from revisiting this issue again next month, I’ll have you all swear an oath under the moon just to be sure.”
Kit looked up at the clouds. There was no moon in sight. Maybe she meant metaphorically. But then Xavier raised a hand up towards the sky, a pale purple amethyst ring glowing on his middle finger. With a few muttered words that Kit didn’t understand, the clouds parted above them. The field became bathed in moonlight, everyone’s forms limned in silver.
Quin lifted his head and howled, as if he couldn’t resist the call of the moon. Kit was tempted to join him in his song. Pressed close to Quin, Kit shivered as he felt the vibrations through his entire body.
“Ah, a good reminder that the werewolf can’t speak in his current form,” Roxy said. “Blood vow it is.”
Kit held up a bloodied hand. The cuts from Conroy’s talons hadn’t quite closed over, though they had healed considerably well. “Will this do?” He needed to see to Quin’s injuries.
“Fresh blood, freely given, I’m afraid,” Roxy said.
A silver blade appeared from nowhere, landing neatly in Xavier’s hand as if by, well,magic. Quin pushed himself between them as Xavier moved closer to Kit. A flash of heat speared through him at Quin’s protective instincts.
“Come on, little one,” Xavier said, gesturing with the knife.
Kit bristled at the use of the overfamiliar pet name. He didn’t complain, satisfying himself with glaring at Xavier. Quin rumbled with discontent, like dangerously close thunder.
