“Gael turned on us.” I proceed to tell her everything from the moment Ines’s chopper went down, up till now. In Atlantean, I say, “I don’t know if he has any blood left in his body, but if he does, would Tarian consider?—”
“Where are you?” Calanthe barks.
“In the main house.”
“Wherein the main house?”
“In the basement. Pantry.”
A heartbeat later, the thud of feet shakes the house.
“You’re here?” I croak.
“Of course we’re here,” Calanthe huffs, but not through the receiver.
She stalks into the pantry, curly hair heaped atop her head in a bun. Tarian enters right behind her. The large pantry suddenly feels tiny.
“Fucking Monta,” Tarian grumbles, stepping over his inert form.
Quinn swallows and edges backward, her good eye so wide her iris bobs in a sea of bloodshot white.
Tarian spares her a glance as he splays his palm over Reeve’s heart.
Calanthe spears her arm through mine, holding me close. “How long has he been…?”
“Not long.”
“Good,” she says.
I lean my head against her shoulder. “Don’t give her false hope,” I murmur in Atlantean.
“Her…or you?”
I decide not to answer. “Dorian and Mal?—”
“Diego’s got them. I’ve never seen him so frantic. I actually thought he might jump out of the chopper and try to swim the rest of the way.”
“Ines…”
Her eyes track across Gael’s body and taper. “I heard.”
I don’t ask if she can be brought back, too afraid of the answer. “We made peace.”
“Did you?”
I nod, my eyes warming again. Stinging again. Goddess below, I’m a mess.
Tarian rolls his neck, then lowers his hand and straightens. I wait, with bated breath for him to say something. Anything.
When a minute rolls by, and he doesn’t even turn around, I ask, “Was it too late?”
He sighs.
“Tarian, was it too?—”
A rattling cough interrupts me.
“Reeve,” Quinn croaks, wading on her knees through his blood until she’s reached him.
