That night started with the promise of new beginnings, maybe even a fragile peace, but the second the not-so-dearly departed showed up—unexpected, uninvited, a ghost with blood still warm—it all collapsed. The room’s temperature dropped ten degrees, and every conversation froze in midair. Once the shock wore off, people were divided as fuck, and because they’re with us, Deli and Rafe weren’t glad-handing the public.
It made things worse, I’m sure, but none of us felt good about being apart for a short while after Wilde resurfaced.
Rafe is at the balcony door now, his forehead pressed to the glass as he watches the sky turn a phantom violet. He’s wearing a thin t-shirt with the faded logo of some band with joggers. His arms are folded tight, a fist pressed into the pocket of his elbow, as if he could punch his own anxiety into submission.
“They’re going for broke,” he mutters, not for the first time. “Full burn. I can hear it—like the entire community’s about to split open.” His breath clouds the pane, and for a second, I wonder ifhe’ll throw himself off the ledge if we don’t figure out where she is.
I doubt it, but he’s freaking me out right now.
Looking at Taurus, I wait for him to do something besides be a cranky clone. I don’t give a shit if it’s a plan, a joke, a riddle—anything that isn’t soaked in dread.
“Shouldn’t his fucking resurrection have ended this shit?” I ask bitterly. “When he died, we did the grieving and therapy shit. We did every fucking stage of acceptance twice for good measure. The return sent us back through all of it, and yet…” I gesture at the bedroom where we’re missing a member of our family. “We’re stuck in the same goddamn place we were before that motherfucker died. I’m sick of it.”
Taurus reaches for my hand, twining his fingers through mine, and squeezes hard enough to make it hurt. “You’re not alone in that feeling, my goddess,” he rumbles. There’s a flicker of steel in his eyes—the one that got us into this mess, and maybe the only thing that will get us out. “We’ll wait it out. She would not leave us all just because some rabble-rousers upset her.”
“At least, not for the ones she saw today. I mean, every time Amanda opens her mouth I sort of want to jump off a cliff to escape the nasally whining, but the cat is much better at that shit than me.”
The tension sputters and softens a little, and we all cling to that moment as if it can shield us.
After a few quiet moments, Rafe comes back to the couch, sitting on the armrest as if he’s a perching bird. There’s a rhythm to the way we orbit each other now, a choreography born of shared trauma and too many nights spent watching for the next shoe todrop. We’re quieter than before Wilde’s return from the dead, but there’s a depth to the silence now.
I look out the big bay window from my spot, noting the homes in the Resistance Quarter are a fractured glow in the distance. It’s hard to assimilate the fact that much of those lights are people who are siding with that crusty troll and her grave-dirt covered mate, but I know they are. Even if they are not saying it, the pressure put on Deli is showing who they support. Her damn friends aren’t really straining themselves to lighten the load, either.
This place is full of cowards and sycophants, I swear to fuck.
Taurus and I curl up with our limbs tangled around Rafe once he finally comes down off the arm of the couch. It’s a protective formation that feels both desperate and primal, but also right. I suddenly remember all the old nature documentaries Taurus and I used to watch, the ones that explained how lions sleep in a pile to ward off the darkness. At the time, it sounded sentimental for big predators, but now I get it. Sometimes the only thing that keeps you safe is the warmth of another body and the knowledge that you’re in this together.
The Pridelands is what Deli and Taurus started calling this house. They were half-joking about his damn tail, but it stuck, and now I know why. Deli and Rafe have brought the big cat mentality she functioned on at her old house to our much smaller family, and I have to admit… it’s better than I ever would have expected.
Except we’re missing our queen and it’s making everyone unsettled and angry.
Since Rafe and I took the cottage, there’s been a rhythm to our individual and group times. But sometimes, like now, bad shit gets into our bubble and we have to come together regardless of our previous plans. We flinch, regroup, and focus on trying to face together, even if it hurts. All of our scar tissue makes us tough, but it can also make you lash out without intending to. So we hold hands, we make promises, and we work hard not to let the outside fuck up what we have inside the walls of our refuge.
But it gets in when it’s truly awful, and the fallout from Wilde’s return has been just that for our feline mate.
The sharp edges were sanded down a bit before the party regarding the things we don’t talk about—past betrayals, old lovers, and ex-mates. That shit was packed in mothballs and stowed away for later. Wilde strutting in like a puffed up turkey blew that to hell, and besides the stress of the Resistance members acting up, niggling doubts and worries are making Taurus and I even edgier. Rafe is operating in his own zone of detachment, anger, frustration, and fear; I know because I can read it in his tone and posture.
Tonight, it’s worse because his primary is off the grid and none of us can feel or find her.
It pisses me off so badly that I can hardly stand it, to tell the truth. Before that stupid, should-have-been-cancelled event, things were settling down. Rafe and I found new ways of being close, even those as simple as a lazy Saturday spent in bed, reading out loud together, with his head on my lap. I was really connecting to our new lifestyle, and I know the others were, too.
Taurus and Rafe have their own thing on other days, and I try not to pry because I spend that time with the cat. I don’t pretend to understand how it works, but I see it works for them. Taurusloses that old, brittle defensiveness when Rafe is around, and though they escape to another room in the house, I know they enjoy the alone time. Sometimes I catch Taurus looking at Rafe with something like awe—like he can’t believe someone so soft and fragile could survive in this world. It’s the same way I look at him, so I get it. Our shared artsy mate is a bit miraculous, and he doesn’t even have half the fucking powers his primary does.
That makes her unbelievable, and I certainly understand why Taurus lost his mind about the missing magical feline—and why we’re all so damned upset.
When the four of us are together—dinner out, snuggling in the enormous main bedroom, movie nights that devolve into arguments about whether Die Hard is or isn’t a Christmas film—it feels like we’re building something that can outlast the storm. Maybe that’s why the last few days have been so rough. Routine is armor, and when it cracks, all the old dread seeps through. Our small amount of routine was completely fucked by that stunt, and the cat is trying like hell to hide that she’s drowning.
We… I… need her to let us help her, and she’s refusing.
It’s not like we can’t see what’s happening. The bad shit has been stacking up since the morning after the party.
Amanda was just the most recent asshole to come knocking to complain about the ‘division’ in our home. Other Sari minions have been doing so as well, even going to Lily to say they’re afraid to bring it up with Deli. They’re building a case that Taurus and I are the ones who are causing the problem because Deli is withdrawn and not prancing around soothing their egos. But we didn’t ask her to do that; in fact, all three of us have warned her that pulling back from everyone will be taken poorly.
Unfortunately, her sense of betrayal at the ones who took part or who are drifting to Sari’s team is too great for her to listen to that wisdom.
When Rafe got back from their place tonight, he looked like someone had wrung him out and hung him up to dry. His eyes were golden with the demon, and one eyebrow was split with a fresh cut he wouldn’t explain. The adrenaline took a while to bleed off, but he went straight to the window, as if the entire Rift owed him an explanation. He said nothing at first, just stood there, arms folded, watching the horizon, the rainstorm in silent fury.
Taurus came barreling in maybe ten minutes later, all broad shoulders and soaked duster. He almost bowled me over as he stomped in with a snarl of, “Where is she?”
