The red haze immediately clears, and I carelessly drop the wrakh in his chair.
While Iain coughs and sputters for air, I turn to Aurora, get on my knees, and beg for her forgiveness.
“I am so sorry, Aurora. I didn’t think … I would never …”
“I know, Ezra, but we won’t get far if we kill every asshole we encounter,” Aurora says, shooting the wrakh a look that could boil blood.
Iain wheezes, sucking in a rattling breath.
Then … this motherfucker grins.
“Didn’t know you liked it rough, shadow man,” he rasps, his voice scraping against the air. “Buy me dinner first, yeah?”
Laughing at his own joke, he throws himself back into his chair.
“Sit. Talk,” he says hoarsely.
“Before I say anything, are we agreed on the terms and the price?” I ask, wanting to get out of his cluttered house as soon as possible.
“Yeah, Ezra. We got a deal. Double what you paid me last time,” Iain says, taking a sip of his still-steaming hot tea.
Returning to my chair, I pull Aurora’s hand into mine. I need her strength—the warmth of her skin—to anchor me.
“Your instincts are correct. Aurora is not human. At least not completely human. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it, but she’s a myth, Iain, a legend. Aurora is a Daughter of the Morning Star.”
I pause, waiting for the inevitable scoff, the sarcasm, the smug wrakh bullshit.
“Fuck …” Iain mutters, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “So that’s why I just dropped two Disciples into the Mariana fucking Trench.”
He’s not surprised. That’s concerning.
“So, you believe me? Why? You just asked me if I still believed in fairytales when I brought the Daughters up a few moments ago.”
“You might be billions of years older than me, but you don’t know everything, Ezra. Think I share information with just anyone? Especially dangerous shite like the existence of the Daughters?”
Iain turns to Aurora with a slow grin, winking as he adds, “You know little blackbird, there’s a thread between me and you as well.”
I steady the rage threatening to rip through my chest, then try to refocus him.
“So, you are aware of the Daughters?”
Unfortunately, my pride alone will not keep her safe. If the past week has taught me anything, it’s that Iain is right. I don’t know everything.
“Yes, Ezra, I’m aware of the Daughters,” Iain drawls, voice thick with mockery. “My kairda, back when it existed, did thread work for Daughters of the past.”
Iain rubs his head and exhales sharply.
“Alright, listen close, little blackbird, ‘cause this ain’t just a bunch of shite tied to your ribs. The weak threads, the ones linking you to the underborne on Earth? They’re throwaway. You pull, they come. But the moment they see you?Snip. Gone forever. Good for war. Good for emergencies. But shite for anything else.”
The wrakh leans forward, voice dropping into something heavier.
“Then there’s the real threads. The ones that fucking matter.” He jabs a finger at her. “Your family. Your friends. The hellhound. That’s solid shite. Strong. Damn near unbreakable. But you can cut them if you ever need to. And distance don’t hurt like hellfire.”
He stops there, jaw tightening as his amber eyes flick to me.
“But that one? The one between you and him?”
Iain’s lip curls, but his eyes stay cold.
