His eyebrows shoot up. “I thought fate came on the wind.”
I shrug. “Who knows? Humans use too many metaphors. The point is, I don’t need fate, I need you, and I don’t care what we have to do, I’m prepared to do it.”
Luca erases the distance between us with three determined strides.
He kisses me, sinking both hands into my hair. “I love it when you fight for me,” he groans. “The sexiest woman alive gearing up to kick fate in the balls. It’s hot.”
“So we’re doing this?” I kiss him again, releasing some of the tension I’ve been carrying since he freaked out.
“We’re doing this.”
I smile, and my stomach does a backflip. Not because I think I’m going to die, but because if this works, it’s forever. More serious than marriage. “How exactly do we do it?”
A blush crawls up Luca’s cheeks—pink slashes across his olive complexion. “I think it’s pretty simple. A good old-fashioned fuck and bite situation.”
“We’ve got some experience with that thanks to Alistair,” I tease.
“Without your good friend fate’s dirty old hands, the key will be wanting it to work—which sounds fucking stupid when I say it out loud.”
My magic ripples inside me even though I didn’t call for it. It’s eager on its own, almost giddy, and even though we’re doing this to escape the monster realm and get home, I have a sudden, blinding certainty it’s going to work.
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” I tell Luca. “If fated couples can bond, why can’t we?”
His expression softens, and he drops his forehead to mine. “Iwish it was happening somewhere more special than a borrowed bed in a veydra’s safe house.”
I kiss his cheek. “I don’t need roses and violins.”
“Tonight then?” Luca nibbles on his lip ring. “I want there to be a healing potion on hand. Just in case.”
I nod. We won’t need it, but he’ll feel better with a safety net.
The air in the living room ripples and pops, then spits Riven, Alistair, and Ciprian out.
“My nervous system is shot,” Ciprian groans. “I’ll never live normally again after this. Why is everything here oversized and fucked up?” He plops down on the couch and puts his head between his knees, sucking in deep, ragged breaths.
Alistair’s face is gray. He stumbles to the side and leans against the back of the couch to keep from falling over. Riven holds out his hand, and Ali drops the polished rock in his palm.
“What happened?” I look them over carefully. Besides the obvious nausea and the frost coating their eyelashes and hair, they seem fine. “Did you see anyone?”
Alistair nods jerkily.
“Who didn’t we see?” Ciprian says. “There were forty-seven minds in that valley, and that’s not counting the Volkswagen-sized bird.”
“Bat,” Riven corrects him. “A morvex is far closer to a bat than a bird.”
Alistair’s eyes flash red. “Do they drink blood?”
Riven nods. “They also eat meat. Extremely carnivorous, but you wouldn’t have sensed its mind.” He addresses that part to Ciprian. “Morvex aren’t shifters, but they are highly food motivated. Some veydra train them to hunt on their behalf, although it’s risky. They’ve been known to take a bite out of their handlers if the mood strikes.”
“Awesome, as always,” Ciprian grumbles. “We’ve got a battalion of veydran after us, a gator-shaped kaiju holding agrudge because Malach lopped off his toe, and raptor bats who want to stick a straw in my neck and suck me dry.”
Riven tugs off his gloves. “They wouldn’t need a straw.”
“I’m painting a word picture, dude.” Ciprian scowls. “You have no imagination.”
“And you overuse hyperbole,” Riven says stiffly.
I clap my hands to break it up. “Did they see you?”
