“Of course,” she says with a shrug. “Arsehole had it coming.”
“Was it easier this time?” I venture as the gods behind me get impatient.
“Easier than what? Last time I staked a vamp?” She shrugs. “Nah, not really. Same old, you know.”
“Same old,” I echo faintly, scanning her again, searching for something. Nothing. She’s just… Rynna. Reckless, gorgeous, dangerous in the human way.
Relief hits so hard I sway. Dreven’s hand lands on my hip to steady me. I don’t look at him. If I do, I’ll cry, and we don’t have time for my feelings.
“Who are your friends?” Rynna asks, eyeing them like a bouncer at closing time. “And why do you all look like you just crawled out of a heavy metal album?”
“Dreven, Voren and Dastian,” I say, giving her names, not occupations. Although I don’t think being a god is exactly a job. “Guys, this is my sister, Rynna.”
I half-wonder why she can see them this time, but maybe they weren’t quick enough on the draw to fade from sight before Rynna showed up.
Or…
Or Rynna is the slayer, oraslayer now, despite outward appearances suggesting otherwise.
“Charmed,” she drawls. “Well, I gotta get back to my life now you’re back to deal with the big bads. See ya around, losers.” Sheturns on her heel, shoving the stake in the back pocket of her jeans and stalks off with a backward wave.
“Loser?” Dastian chokes on the word. “Fucking hell. She is feisty.”
“She isn’t the slayer,” I say, my voice flat.
“You expected her to be?” Dreven gives me an intense stare.
“I died,” I hiss.
“Yeah,” Dastian says softly, for once not taking the piss. “You did.”
“But your line didn’t pass,” Voren says, studying me. “Not properly.”
“How do you know?” I demand.
“Because if it had, you’d feel hollow where the bond sits.” His fingers hover near my sternum, not touching, sensing. “It’s frayed. Not severed.”
“So the spirits were wrong?” I ask. “She wasn’t called. She has no idea I… died.”
“They weren’t wrong,” Voren replies. “They were premature. Calling is a process. You crossed, yes. But I hauled you back before the mantle moved. It tries again if the body stays dead. You didn’t.”
I blink. “So I’m still the slayer, and she isn’t.”
“Yes,” Dreven says, clipped. “Which means your sister remains a very mouthy pre-slayer. We keep it that way.”
Relief empties my lungs in a rush that makes me sway. Dreven’s hand stays on my hip like he doesn’t trust gravity to behave around me anymore. Fair.
“Good,” I say, and my voice scrapes. “One apocalypse at a time.”
Dastian eyes the curl of metal tucked under my arm. “And our charming paperweight?”
“It’s dead,” I snap. “You were there.”
He shrugs. “So were you.”
“Ouch,” I snarl.
He shrugs. “Too soon?”
