He leans closer, pressing his elbow on his knee. “Something naughty?”
“You could say that.”
He jolts back. “I don’t like that tone. Here I was, coming into your room, thinking we were going to have fun and play a joke on Titus, but that tone tells me you want me to keep a secret from him.” The mattress squeaks as he stands. “Don’t ask me to do that.”
I lunge forward and grab his hand. “I just… If I ask you to give him a letter, would you?”
He snatches his hand back. “I was just starting to like you. What do I call you? Sister-in-law sounds insulting to the bond.” He hems and haws. "Mate-in-law."
“Tristen.”
“Don’t!” he snaps with a wicked tongue. “Youcan give him the letter.”
“What if I’m not here?”
I hear his teeth grind before he flashes his fangs. He walks to the door and grabs the handle. “Newsflash, mate-in-law, you’re not going anywhere.” He slams the door shut.
I walk to my desk, light a candle and, with shaking hands, I begin to write Titus a letter. Tears stain the page. Just as I pen the final word, I remember the conversation Titus and I had when we first met. Ironic that it was about final goodbyes.
Titus coughs, but his voice only deepens.“During Everett’s final battle, he caged me. Stopped time. My brother was on the outside, moving more slowly. I witnessed swords sink into flesh; I saw the prolonged confusion that death claimed them. I’d rather die instantly than watch the seconds pass.”
The hand of my brother’s killer slips into mine before I can stop myself. My actions shock us both. There’s a spark that curls up our arms. His fingers hug mine.
“Some say a slow death is more precious; it gives you time to say your goodbyes,”I murmur.
“What if I don’t want goodbyes?” He studies our held hands much longer than is appropriate.
Titus doesn’t want a long goodbye, and that’s what a letter would be.
I hang my head. “What am I doing?”
The edge of the paper curls as the candle’s flame begins to burn it. I hurry, walk to my balcony, and release it. The wind carries it, up, up, up, then it's gone.
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
Titus
The scent of freshly sharpened metal surrounds me as I enter Adrian’s office. Oil and sparks. Grit and survival. Not a bottle of bloodwine in sight.
He’d make a good king, but Everett saw him better suited as a turncoat.
Adrian’s forehead becomes silk on uneven ground. “You look different.”
I am. I just drank from my mate.
Adrian’s posture turns to that of fingers gripping a page they are hesitant to turn. In the blink of an eye, he’s standing, slamming his door shut so the silencing spells protect us. He stands firm as a tree, arms crossing—digging deep like roots for answers.
“Show me your chest.” His voice is a branch, snapping in the sudden storm.
The blood drains from my face. “What?”
“Your heart. Show it to me.”
He knows. Is it that obvious? My magic covers my arms, and the heat from the flames has him stepping back.
He lifts a hand, tugging down his collar. “I’m bonded.” There on his chest is his unique mate mark. “I know what the afterglow of the first time with your mate feels like. It can’t be hidden; it forces people to take a step back, to reconsider you in every way. You can always sense a predator, and being mated means you are a step above everyone else.” He pulls at his hair. “The gods must be with us. Galen left hours ago. He’d use your mate against you.”
