“Who the hell leaked this shit?” Dezi’s words are quiet but razor-edged. He’s as angry as I am because he’s so much more reserved about his public persona. This kind of salacious tripe makes him look silly, and that will not go over well at all.
“Looks like someone’s got a vendetta,” Revelin says, showing us the anonymous quotes and snide insinuations about his refusal to meet with other Fae. “The NDAs covered this with staff or Council folks.”
“Amethyst is my guess. She looked at me like I was pissing in her pool at the bus meet up.” I spit out her name like it’s poison. “Or it could be the council, I suppose. You said they were acting dumb about your appearances. Regardless, someone’s playing dirty pool.”
They all look at one another, then at Revelin, who sighs. “I’ve noticed she’s being different, yes. She was less helpful than I would have liked yesterday, and it was hard to ditch her to meet you.”
“Fuck this. You should just pull out of everything except the gigs and charity stuff. That’ll show them.” I give my mate a serious look and he shakes his head. “Why not? They deserve punishment.”
“That’s exactly what they want,” Revelin counters, weary resignation in his eyes. “It confirms everything they’re speculating. We can’t let them control the narrative.”
“Then what? Sit back and let them trample over us?” My fists clench at my sides, knuckles craving something to hit. “I’m not the ‘sit back and take it’ kind of gal, Prince. I spent most of our teen years kicking asses so people left Feray alone and I sure as hell refuse to let some asshole take potshots at you.”
“Allow me to handle it,” Dezi offers, his gaze flinty and determined. “I’ll find the rat. Just give me what I need to locate all the players, Fae. We’ll have answers about your leak.”
“I’ll have to get a hold of that without Amethyst. She’s under suspicion, and I don’t want her to know what you’re doing.” Revelin nods, the decision weighing heavily on him. “If these leaks continue, it could compromise our search, which is unacceptable. But also, my private life is no one’s bloody business unless I choose to share.”
“We’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Khol chimes in, his earlier aggression forgotten in the face of our shared problem. “Besides, for all we know, Amethyst could be innocent. And even if she’s not, agents like her thrive on scandal. To them, infamy equals profit.”
“Then we play it smart,” I conclude, glaring at the phone as if it’s the source of all our troubles. “No knee-jerk reactions. We find the leak, plug it, and keep moving forward.”
“Exactly,” Revelin agrees, a steel edge to his usually melodic voice. “We have to keep our eyes on the prize. This is just a distraction.”
“An annoyingly public one,” Dezi adds, his tone dark as nightfall. “But once we cut out the tumor, we’ll be back on track. At least this popped early in our journey.”
The clink of glasses against the metal tray announces Tiernan’s return before he even steps through the door. He enters with the grace of his cat, balancing a tray laden with vials of liquid reprieve. I reach for a tonic, the icy touch of the glass against my palm somehow grounding. Each of us takes one, the sharp tang of citrus and herbs cutting through the fog in my brain.
“I also heated your blood, Dezi,” Tiernan says, nodding at the class of darker liquid set aside from the rest. “Hopefully, I got the temp right. I’ve never done it before.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect you to do that,” Dezi says, his voice gravelly with gratitude or residual thirst—I can’t tell which. “It’s very... considerate.” He takes the glass and tilts it back, the crimson liquid disappearing behind his lips.
“Family takes care of each other,” Tiernan states simply, and I notice the way Dezi’s stoic mask cracks at that.
It’s kind of cute that he’s got as many hang-ups about people as I do.
Dezi sets down the empty cup with a soft click and stands, muscles stretching in a beautiful porcelain dance as he retrieves his coat. His back is a wide expanse of muscle that pulls tight against the skin, and I can’t help but crack a grin. Revelin, his pallor still a shade too pale, lets out a faint chuckle. “Death becomes you, lass.”
“Shut it, pretty boy,” I retort, but the affection is there, betraying me despite my reluctance to admit it out loud. “How can I ignore that shit when you idiots always prance around half dressed?”
Dezi turns back to us, his arms filled with black leather cuffs. I look at him curiously; it doesn’t feel like the time for that kind of hanky panky. I note the Ruby crest proudly displayed atop each one and tilt my head as I wait for him to explain. The rubies in the center gleam with the infusion of fresh blood, a stark contrast to the dark leather.Even the guys eye the gifts, a mix of curiosity and admiration flowing freely amongst us.
“Protection charms,” Dezi explains, passing them around to my men. “Resistance hexes. You’re part of both our worlds now—vulnerable to being harmed or taken, which would hurt the witchling. I can’t have that happen, especially since you are all part of my coven as well.”
“Damn, Dezi... When did you become such a papa bear?” I mutter as the cuff wraps comfortably around my wrist, the weight reassuring, the craftsmanship impeccable. The words make him shoot me an evil glare, which I gleefully ignore.
After all, I’ve got my tricks, and he has his.
“Precautions are necessary, Fiadh,” he responds, but his lips quirk in a half-smile. “Especially because you’ve gathered the most alpha, impetuous mates on the fucking planet.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I say with a shrug. “I suppose that’s how they match with me.”
A low moan comes from the quiet Prince, and we turn to him. He buckles the cuffs on his wrist, then flops back next to me dramatically. “Greasy food. Need it now.”
“Twig & Berries?” Khol suggests, already reaching for his second cuff. “Their shit could wake the dead—at least, that’s what I remember from last night.”
“Let’s do it,” I say, standing up with newfound determination. I slip into my gear, the leather hugging every contour, the tank top snug against my skin. I pat the brass knuckles in my pocket, their presence a silent promise. “And let’s make something clear—if anyone calls me a groupie again, they’ll be eating through a straw.”
Khol’s grin is all fangs. “I love it when you talk tough.”
