“She wouldn’t know exactlywhyRogan would have sealed a vow with you, or what it is, but she’d know you mattered enough for him to offer something so sacred. She’d watch to see if he might give you other valuable things too.”
My eyes flit to Tad, and he waggles his eyebrows and then discreetly mouthsthat Dto me.
I snort out a laugh, which has everyone else turning to see what I find so amusing. My cheeks heat as I shoot Tad and his dirty mind a glare.
“It was an Order morgue, so even if Marx can keep his friend quiet about the missing bodies for a little longer, she’s eventually going to have to report it. As soon as Sorrel Adair hears, she’ll make a move,” Rogan states resolutely.
“That bumps up our timeline,” Elon contemplates, and Rogan nods his silent agreement.
“Timeline?” I question, studying the stern planes of both of their faces. They look so alike and yet so different.
“For war,” Elon announces, as though it’s no big deal.
I choke on the gulp of water I just tried to swallow and fix him with a look that screamssay what now?
Elon glances at Rogan, confused. “You didn’t tell her?”
“I, uh, I mean, we got tied up with other things. I haven’t had a chance to catch Lennox up to speed on everything,” Rogan confesses, and I swear a hint of red crawls up his neck.
“Catch me up on what?” I press, ignoring his badly veiled reference to the boning that went down earlier.
He better not be pulling that “need to know” shit he was all about before. We sure as hell better be past that crap. A wave of reassurance rolls through our bond, and my sudden frown eases up just a bit.
“I might have declared war on the High Council,” he reveals casually.
“Might have?” Tad queries, a sneaky smile on his face.
“As in I definitely could have told my mother that we weren’t running anymore and to watch her back,” he discloses.
My eyes widen, both impressed and shocked by this revelation. “When did you see her?”
“She came tocheckon Elon when the Order called him into headquarters to answer a few more questions so they could close the case.”
“She does like a good ambush,” I grumble, and a small smile ticks at Rogan’s lips.
“He didn’t threaten to stab her with her own femurs, but the sentiment was there,” Rogan teases, and it’s Elon’s turn to choke on his drink.
“Wait, you threatened to stab our mother with her own femurs?” he asks, clearly delighted.
“I’ll have to see if we can get the security footage hacked so you can see it, it was incredible,” Rogan tells Elon, pride swelling in his voice.
My cheeks heat, and I will the blush creeping into them to fuck off. “I thought her lackeys shut down the camera feed?” I question, brushing off the compliment and the squishy feeling it creates in my belly.
“The Order’s feed, yes, but not her own,” Elon explains. “The High Priestess studies possible threats against her like a sports team studies gameday footage. She’d have her people recording every second of the interaction so she could watch it back over and over again, examining the syntax, the body language, your reactions, everything really.”
A shiver skitters up my spine at what he’s saying. I can easily picture it though. The High Priestess in a dark room, rewinding, playing, and pausing a video of me for hours on end. I wouldn’t put it past the bitch to be curled up under a blanket made out of happy Labrador skins, looking for the Crone knows what, while eating popcorn popped by the tiny flames of rare baby dragons. The visual is disconcerting as hell, but that definitely fits her vibe.
“But why pick a fight now? Why not fade into the background like you’ve both been doing since she renounced you? Why the sudden need to stop running and square up?” I ask, concerned. I assumed I was going to have to get used to a life of hiding and constantly looking over my shoulder. This sudden desire to take a stand is surprising as hell.
Elon’s eyes settle on Rogan, and he waits for his brother to explain. The room grows quiet as everyone waits for an answer. The silence starts to feel heavy as Rogan seems to debate how to answer that question.
After what feels like forever, he takes a deep breath and turns to me. “Because I had met someone who made me want to runtothem instead of away...and then I lost her. I was fed up with backing down and fleeing. It was time to make them pay.”
My gaze bounces back and forth between his fervent stare, and everything inside of me heats up with his admission. “War was for me?” I clarify, my tone soft and astonished.
We stare at each other, and a profound understanding clicks into place. It’s as though every bloodthirsty, eye-for-an-eye strain in my genetic makeup comes to life. My inner cave woman rears her matted head and grunts in approval. My ancient warrior ancestors bang weapons against shields, and I go all doe eyed and swoony.
He was going to go to war for me. I’d died and he was going to burn it all to the ground, fed up and ready to dish out some much deserved retribution.
