Deadlimp.
I jolt to my feet so fast that my chair rockets backward and crashes into the wall like I’m in a poorly written sitcom. “What in the actual fuck is your problem?!”
“She shot me,” Cade says flatly. “With a poisoned arrow.”
“Oh, well, thenobviouslystrangling a woman to death in front of a live audience is the reasonable response,” I snap back, hands in the air. “Something is seriously wrong with you people.”
“Iris isn’t dead, Ro,” Archie reminds me. “She just needs a few minutes to come back to life.”
I blink. Slowly. “This is insane.”
“It’s just another day around here,” Liz offers with a shrug from behind the ice cream cart. “People kill Iris a few times a week. Usually with more flair, though.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mutter, dragging my hands down my face as I pace the far side of the table, trying to avoid eye contact with the murdering monster.
But apparently, ignoring him was ahugemistake.
One moment, he’s across the room, and the next, he’s right next to me. Towering, looming, and radiating “angry Viking lumberjack” energy.
I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. Easily over six and a half feet of muscle, menace, and golden eyes that practically glow with…something. Not affection. More like territorial rage dipped in testosterone.
His eyes flick over me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, stepping back and nearly tripping over my feet.
“You’re my mate,” he says, like that explains everything from the Hulk rage to his casual strangling tendencies.
I blink again.
“You need to come with me.” The confident look on his carved-from-marble face tells me he’s not used to being denied.
Well, that’s about to change.
“I don’t think so.” I snatch my arm away as he tries to reach for me. “Don’t eventhinkabout touching me. You just choked the life out of my grandmother.”
“She’s not actually staying dead,” he deadpans,frowning likeI’mthe unreasonable one. “And you don’t even like her.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I want to skip off into the sunset with her not-really-murdered-murderer.”
The crease between his brow only deepens. “I’m not a murderer. I’m your?—”
I actually growl. A low, guttural sound that rips from my throat like it was lying in wait. It startles even me, but apparently, it works.
“If you saymateone more time,” I warn, “I’m running. Full-on forest sprint. Answers be damned.”
From the floor, Iris chuckles. Groaning, she sits up with all the grace of a zombie on leg day. “There’s the Rowan I always hoped you’d grow into.” Her eyes flick to Cade, voice sharpening. “You’re not welcome here. Not by me, and certainly not by her. It’s time you left.”
As much as I appreciate Iris standing up for me, I don’t really think she’s going to instill any fear into the man who just broke her neck, even if she brings the crossbow back out.
“You know I can’t do that,” he says gruffly. “She’s not safe now that she’s in transition. It doesn’t matter what I wanted or what I thought… It’s my duty to protect her.”
Duty, huh? That word snags in my brain like a thorn. Not fate. Not love. Not even creepy soulmate law. But duty.
Maybe being mates doesn’t sound like it means what I thought. If he’s only here as some sort of freakishly strong bodyguard, I might be able to tolerate him a while longer until I figure out how to get the hell out of this mess I’ve somehow found myself. Allover a stupid whiskey delivery. Honestly, this would be comical if it weren’t my reality.
“NightShade is the safest place for her,” Iris replies, brushing invisible dust from her shoulder like she wasn’t just rag-dolled by Mr. Too-Tall-Tantrum over here. “A supernatural can’t be killed on these grounds unless the attacker wants the Archers after them.”
Cade laughs. Not the reassuring kind. It’s rough, bitter, like he knows something we don’t.
