“Can we not start a brawl before breakfast?” Tiernan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Revelin quips, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. “I enjoy watching our girl get saucy with people who post up. She’s especially good at shutting down meanie chicks.”
Dezi just sighs, his gaze lingering on the cuffs we now wear. “Interesting morning,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “But I agree; going out in public is a good plan.”
“Interesting doesn’t even cover it,” I agree, my fists clenched in anticipation. “Let’s go show Arrowwood what we’re made of.”
The guys all grin, finally getting their asses in gear to get dressed. I’d worry about their enthusiasm for my threat of violence, but let’s face it… I definitely want to smash someone’s face this morning. Eating breakfast in the same place as the photos were taken should give me an opportunity to burn off my aggression in a justifiable manner.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
Ilean against the cool metal of the precinct’s front desk, my arms crossed as I tap a rhythmless beat against the steel. The frustration is a tangible thing, clawing up my throat, and I swallow it back down. It’s irrational to think I could’ve stopped the whispers—the secrets that slip through the cracks like water—but I can’t help it. Security was supposed to have this handled after we left. Yet here I am, waiting for Fiadh and Khol to be processed because someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut.
Knuckles told us what she’d do if someone gave her shit; I can’t even be mad.
“Tiernan Jinx?” a voice calls, and I turn to see the dryad officer waving me over with a stack of papers. Striding over, I grab the pen he offers impatiently. Signing on the dotted line releases Fiadh and Khol from their temporary captivity, so I do it.
My gaze flicks over the holding area to check for randos with cameras to look for their five minutes of fame as I wait for them to emerge. Within seconds, my witch mate and her basilisk strut out as if the jail cell was just another VIP room. Khol’s usual disinterested look is replaced with a victorious smirk as people gape at them. Both are speckled with remnants of what I assume was once someone’s meal and blood—the mixture is now a badge of honor marking their scuffle.
“Really, Knuckles?” I chide, but there’s noheat in it. I can’t muster up the anger when they both seem so damned pleased with themselves.
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Fi shoots back, the corners of her lips tilting upward. “The next time someone thinks about calling me a groupie, they’ll remember this.”
“Remind me again why we can’t all just get along without throwing punches?” I grumble. “This is a shit ton of paperwork and we’re lucky Rev’s lawyer speaks elvish.”
“Some people can’t hear until you use fists, big kitty,” Khol remarks dryly, his eyes alight with mischief. “So you turn up the volume until your point is made.”
Mother of beasts, save me from these two. Corralling Revelin for all these years has been hard enough.
I shake my head, disbelief mixing with an odd sense of pride. My family is a wild bunch, but they’re mine, and I haven’t had that for a very long time. I guide them outside into the bright light of early afternoon, as Fi’s words echo in my mind. She might be onto something. Maybe it takes a bit of chaos to silence the trolls hiding behind their screens and avatars, spewing nonsense for the thrill.
“Let’s just try to avoid making this a habit, okay?” I say, more to myself than to them.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Fi counters, a spark of her own magic twinkling at her fingertips, a reminder that she’s not just any troublemaker—she’s a force to be reckoned with, on the internet or off.
I sigh, steering them toward the tour bus. “Let’s get back before any other surprises pop up.”
Revelin’s raisedvoice thunders out of the bus before we even round the corner. Fiadh bolts up the steps first, a streak of determination that leaves Khol and me hustling in her wake. I would have counseled her to wait a moment to ensure this isn’t just a loud disagreement, but our witch moved like she was chasing a golden goose.
“Encouraging her to fuck up people who deserve it might have been a mistake,” Khol mutters, rubbing the back of his neck with an uneasy chuckle. “I didn’t expect to run into this many idiots so soon.”
I really need to have the conversation about dumbasses and idol worship sooner rather than later.
Once we get inside, the atmosphere crackles with tension thick enough to claw through. Revelin is perched on the counter, wings unfurled, the air shimmering with his irritation. Fiadh stands opposite him, her posture rigid, eyes fixed on Amethyst, who looks annoyingly unaffected by the confrontation.
“Strays should know their place,” Amethyst snipes, her gaze sliding dismissively from Fiadh to land on Khol and me as we step into the fray.
That’s when I see it—the flash of anger across Khol’s face, scales emerging along his skin like a warning. My hand lands firmly on his shoulder, holding him back. “Easy, man,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm brewing around us. “Let’s not escalate this.”
Our basilisk glares at me, muttering about insubordination and teaching disrespectful morons a lesson, but I ignore it. Turning to Amethyst, I keep my tone level. “You’re overstepping your boundaries.”
Her laugh grates against my nerves. “Please, you’re just an overpaid babysitter.”
Fi explodes, her magic surging visibly around her, casting shadowsof crimson and obsidian. “Have fun in the unemployment line. I’m sure they’ll find you hilarious,” she seethes, standing her ground.
“Can’t fire me,” Amethyst retorts with a smug tilt of her head. “The King promised me I could oversee this entire tour. Even the Prince cannot break a Fae oath.”
“Maybe not,” Fi counters, her voice low and dangerous, “but I can certainly kick your ass off this bus before the stench of failure makes it uninhabitable.” Dark words in Latin flows from Fi’s lips, her fingers flick in a swift motion, and Amethyst is gone—ejected as if shot down a well-greased slide.
