Asher's jaw flexes. I speak first. "Different levels of betrayal, sweetheart," I mutter, stalking toward the cabinet. "Yours involved sitting alone with the guy who marked you like property."
I grab a bottle and a shot glass as my mind spirals into chaos—rage, hurt, and that soul-deep ache that only betrayal can evoke.
Fuck, why do I have to love her this much?
I down one shot. Then another. It barely burns.
She asks carefully, like she's stepping through a minefield, "Are you two okay? What happened?"
Asher's arms cross like steel. "You knowsomethinghappened?"
She nods, hesitant. "He promised not to harm you."
I bark out a laugh. "What a gentleman. Maybe you should go back to him then," I say, venom laced in every word.
Her eyes widen like I slapped her. Maybe I did. Not with hands. With something worse. She looks away, lips pressed together like she's swallowing a scream.
I pour another glass. My palms brace the counter. Fuck, I'm a mess. But when I'm hurt, I lash out. That's what I do. I bleed and bite.
And no, I'm not apologizing.
Asher takes over, voice even but cold. "We were lured by illusions. We thought we saw you in the woods. We followed. Got separated. Time slipped."
She nods without lifting her gaze. "That's faun magic. In the forest, you're inside a life-bound domain. Their powers are strongest there."
"Faun?" Asher asks, brow raised. "You mean the young guy? The one who brought the invitations?"
She nods. "Johnny. Fauns are like… less powerful satyrs, but stronger than nymphs when it comes to illusions and nature-based magic."
Oh, I remember him. That smug, pretty-faced bastard.
I've imagined gutting him slowly and watching the life drain from those eyes more times than I care to admit.
"Lovely," I mutter, pouring again. "Just lovely to know we're the playthings of your nature-hugging psycho coven. Tell me, Sage, whose side are you on these days? Because I'm starting to lose track. Doyouknow?"
She exhales, rubbing the back of her neck like she's caught between guilt and a migraine. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. I was trying to find a bloodless way out. If they wanted to hurt us, they could've. They're a team."
"Exactly," Asher cuts in, his tone like a slap. "They're a team. One that doesn't go behind each other's backs."
He stares at her. Then: "Why didn't you write? Call? Let us know anything?"
She rubs her temples, guilt seeping into her voice. "He took me to a restaurant. Private place. Heavy curtains. I couldn't see outside. Some kind of Faraday setup—no signal got through. I didn't notice how much time had passed."
I laugh again. It's dry and broken.
"Charming. Really. A manipulative bastard with ambiance. Maybe he even picked the wine for you. Wait, I'm sure he did. And it was the most expensive one on the list."
She snaps to me again, voice rising. "I know he's a manipulative bastard. I told him that to his face. But he kept his promise. I'm standing here, not bleeding, not broken. And so are you."
"What did he tell you?" Asher asks, tone cool but probing. "Since you had such a long, illuminating conversation."
She drops onto the couch like the weight of everything finally settles on her. "He explained some of what I didn't understand. Things I never got answers to when I left. Missing pieces."
I scoff. "Let me guess—he spun a pretty little tale where he's Prince Charming, and we're the evil stepbrothers keeping you locked in a tower."
Asher cuts through my ramble, "Did he tell you whether he used influence on you?"
The room freezes. She hesitates just enough to sting.
