“Just the morning then. Please?” I’m not above begging at this point. I want a long hot shower and coffee instead of jumping right into training.
Sin’s jaw works, and I think I might actually get what I want. But then he starts shaking his head and I snap.
“Sin, I am going to get up and take a relaxing, hot shower, and unless you want to watch, you are going to leave my room. Now.” I grip the blankets as if to pull them off, to drive home the threat.
At my words, Sin’s eyes flare, and a ghost of an unreadable emotion crosses his face. But then I blink, and he’s gone.
Was it an empty threat?
Absolutely.
But even with his sexually charged comments, I think Sin is all talk. The moment we are in a potentially compromising position, he backs off or looks uncomfortable. I can’t be sure, but I think he uses the sexual comments to rile me up. It’s annoyingly effective, so I’m proud of myself for finally throwing it back at him.
I’m going to call the strategy ‘tactical nudity.’
After a deliciously long shower, I dress in my own clothes rather than the fighting leathers that Sin keeps me in all day. I choose a deep green A-line skirt and a loose-fitting cream blouse. It’s sleeveless, and I usually avoid wearing it, but with the scratches on my arm and shoulder, I don’t want fabric getting stuck to them.
I slip into some black ballet flats to complete my outfit. And I don’t miss my chance to put onunderwear. I dig through my collection, settling on a tan bra and lacy matching thong.
No more advocating for going commando. I’m proud of my underwear addiction.
Feeling light and happy, I skip down the stairs to breakfast. Sure, my world is still a dumpster fire. But I celebrate the little things.
My smile crashes when I swing into the dining room.
Rosie is crying, and Damien is trying to comfort her. Magnus has his head in his hands, looking beaten. Morgana is rigid at the head of the table, but I don’t miss the way her hands shake. Sin is cracking his knuckles, looking like he might want to kill something. He’s glowing.
“What happened?” I ask, terrified of their answer.
Morgana turns and indicates for me to come in and take a seat. I go to my chair, and Rosie looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, only to start sobbing louder.
“What’s going on?” I ask again, feeling more anxious by the second.
“We just got some intelligence about a member of our team. It’s not good,” Sin answers grimly.
I look between him and Morgana, hoping they feel comfortable enough to tell me more.
Morgana won’t meet my eyes. She stares down at the table.
That’s a bit weird. Morgana doesn’t seem to be the kind of person who shies away from eye contact.
There’s something they aren’t telling me.
Rosie hiccups beside me, her sobs slowing slightly. “Vivian, I’m so sorry,” she says between sharp inhales.
I frown at her, wondering what on Earth she’s apologizing for.
“Is this about me getting hit with an arrow? I already told you it was my decision, and you have nothing to be sorry for,” I say, hoping to ease whatever she’s upset about. Rosie felt terrible about my getting hurt in her realm, and I’ve hardly seen her since.
Rosie sobs harder. “No, it’s not, it’s not that.” She breathes hard. “It’s Arianna. They have her, and we didn’t tell you,” she finishes with another round of sobs.
The name immediately brings back flashes from Cassandra’s life.
There’s a little girl with white-blond hair and frightened blue eyes.I take her away from the groping hands of the Guardians. She climbs into my bed for months on end every time she has a nightmare. Then I see her again as a scabby-kneed pre-teen, training with swords with me in the temple of Atlantis. Another flash, and she is a teenager who watches out for the other children when I leave on missions.
The first child Cassandra ever saved from the Guardians. The girl she raised and considered a sister until her dying breath.
“My Arianna?” I yell, my voice cutting over everyone in the room.
