Rowan looks his sister over. “You all patched up?”
She nods and glances at her leg. “It reallywasjust a scratch. The bullet barely even grazed me.”
Rowan pulls her into his arms and speaks into her ear as she nods. She squeezes him before turning for the door.
“Gráinne,” I call after her.
She stops and turns back to me.
“Thank you,” I breathe. I have to clear my throat, which suddenly feels too thick. “If you hadn’t stopped them…”
She walks over and shocks me by throwing her arms around me. “I would do anything for Taryn. You don’t need to thank me. It’s nice to see her finally happy.”
I nod, mainly because I have no words. She turns and walks away, but I don’t move. Because I don’t know if she’s right.
I think maybe it was Taryn who was right all along—about leaving, about building a life far from all this blood and deception. Maybe if I’d let her go, she wouldn’t be a target. She wouldn’t be covered in dirt and bruises and trauma she didn’t ask for.
I wanted to protect her. I still do. But I brought her into this world like it was a gift—like love could shield her from the reality of what we are. What I am. And today? Today, I nearly got her killed.
“We have an issue,” my father says, and I almost laugh. An issue? A man put a gun to my wife’s ribs. Shots were fired. Gráinne bled. I killed someone. Call it what it is—we’re at war. We are in the exact place I wanted to avoid. My naivety is going to cost us everything.
My father doesn’t flinch. “A courier dropped this off at the house this morning.”
He tosses a cheap flip phone onto the table. It clatters and spins, the plastic casing cracked at the hinge.
“It rang once. When we picked it up, a voice simply said, ‘Consider that a warning,’ and hung up. Number was blocked.”
Rowan grunts. “Cowards.”
My father nods, but that’s not the end of it. He reaches into his coat pocket and produces something else—a coin. He sets it beside the phone.
The room stills.
“What the hell is that?” Rowan asks.
My father sighs. “A drachma.”
Everyone goes quiet, contemplating why they’d give us an outdated, worthless Greek token, until a voice from the doorway speaks.
“It’s Charon’s fare.”
We all turn to see Taryn standing there in leggings and an oversized hoodie, pale but steady, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. There’s a thin red mark across her cheek where the shattered window cut her—it’s just a scratch, but it causes my blood to boil.
“In Greek mythology, he carries the souls of the dead across the River Styx,” she continues, stepping into the room like she belongs there. “But only if they have a coin to pay him.” Her eyes flick to the silver piece on the table. “So I’m not an expert at this, but I’d say that’s a message.”
“Taryn,” Nolan grits out, rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t be in here. You need to rest.”
She opens her mouth, but I’m already moving.
“No,” I say. I push my chair back and cross the room to her, guiding her back to where I’d been seated. I pull her down onto my lap before anyone else can argue. “She stays.”
Nolan bristles. “She was almost taken, Liam.”
“And now she’s protected,” I growl. “By me. And by everyone at this table. She’s not just my wife. She’s a member of the clan. Both clans. And our enemies made a mistake the second they laid a hand on her.”
Taryn doesn’t speak. She leans back against me, her hand curling over my heart like she’s grounding both of us. She doesn’t need to say anything right now. She’s already said enough just by walking into this room.
“They’re angry. Embarrassed. And wounded.” My father’s voice commands the room once again. He looks at me. “Thanks to you and your brother.”
