They’re not in charge.
I am.
While Alena’s been at the spa with my mom, I’ve beenring shopping, trying to find one that’ll look perfect on her finger and complement the dirt I love that’s often under her nails. And I did.
I’ll marry Alena to prove to Nash that I love her. He needs to accept it: she’s mine.
To my point, he seethes, “When were you going to ask my permission to marry my daughter?”
“Um,” I deadpan, “after you punched my bleeding eye, but before you tried to break my nose.”
“Here. Use this. Apply pressure.” Like an angel, one appears by my side, handing me a piece of folded gauze. “I’m Wren, by the way.”
“Thanks, Wren.” Accepting it, I grin. “I’m Loch.”
She winks. “I figured.”
“How were you going to do this without our support?” Axel demands to know, “How are you going to marry Alena without her finding out about us?”
Boldly, Wren hands Axel gauze for his bloody lip, bossing him, “That’s gonna need some ice, too.”
Oddly, Axel looks calmed by her. “Thanks, Wren.”
We all are. It’s what our queens do: save our dumb asses.
Cutely, she shrugs. “No problem.”
Fuck, I wish Wren could meet Alena. They’re so much alike, blurting and not giving a shit.
“He’ll marry her.” Nash glares at me. But then he remembers we’re brothers and says, “And we’ll never tell Alena who we are?—”
And then there’s this shit again: Nash and his refusal to tell Alena the truth.
“Here,” Wren interrupts him, handing Nash gauze for his broken nose. “Lean forward and pinch your nose,” she orders. “Don’t tip your head back. That’s a misconception.”
“Uh…” Nash obeys. “Thanks, Wren.”
“You’re welcome.” She turns, shaking her head like she can sense my frustration.
She makes Jace snort and Sire laugh.
“What?” she asks them.
Sire adores her. “Want to tell us why you won’t stop shaking your head at us?”
Her topaz eyes widen. “Was I?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jace puffs. “Because they’re dumbasses, right?”
Wren shrugs, warning, “Any man’s a dumbass if you think you can keep a secret from a woman for long. From what I gather, Alena doesn’t know who you are. That you’re ex-Bratva?”
I wince, fearing Wren’s right.
This secret will explode, destroying Alena and me one day.
Axel, the king charged with guarding our hidden identities, sneers at Sire, “And just how doesSHEknow who we are?”
Wren gives us a poisonous dose of Southern sass about lying to women before her prophecy. “Alena needs to know who you are.Thatkeeps her safe.”
