They broke her. They finally broke her.
I look down at her, my expression soft as I murmur. “If that many people piped up behind her to say they might go? That means they want you to hear about it. I’m sorry to have peeped in your noggin a bit while you were waking, but it sounds like the one who didn’t give a rat’s ass—Belle—is the only one who flew the coop. The rest of them made sure she realized they were thinking about it. That means you can still fix it.”
The minx hugs me tighter and whispers, “Maybe I’m more worried that I’ve lost me. They’ll come back, but I’ll not be able to be a part of anything because I’ll be afraid of restarting the pattern.”
“Be true to yourself. Sod them, and sod me. Do what you want, baby.” Tilting her head up, I look into the sapphire eyes that I love so much. “Don’t let them hold you hostage for anything you don’t want to give.”
“I don’t want to sod anything; I just want to live. I’ve been so happy and no one cares. They want what they need to feel better, and because I’m not giving it, they’re taking me down with them.”
“Why are you letting them make you unhappy if they don’t care about you?”
“I’m trying not to, but sometimes you can’t control emotions, you know?” She sniffs and rubs her face against my shoulder. “I created this place to help everyone who got left out. Now they’re saying I’ve become the very thing they came here to escape because I’m not running myself ragged to make every personhappy. I guess I trained them to expect it, but none of them came up with this on their own. I think background whispers made people think I ignored them to serve their purpose.”
“Find your happiness, baby. Find it and live it. Don’t let anyone steal it from you—it’s too precious. We all love you. The gnome’s pack is running scared. Bringing the git back didn’t work the way she planned it, and she’s angry. You, Sampson, the goddess—none of you came rushing back. Now she’s left with the dregs she planned to ditch once she had you. She’s pivoting because we took something she thought was hers.”
“I tried! But the happier I get, the harder they slap me down. I can’t even have a stupid party without some kind of war breaking out.”
“The answer is to what? Be miserable so you’re not made miserable?” I shake my head. “It’s the happiness that gets us through the gut-wrenching, luv. If the love’s worth it, it’s worth it, period. I’m not sure how helpful it is, cutting yourself off from the family that loves you so you can mourn.”
“It just hurts so much. It seems like I’m being sliced up inside again, like when...” She stops and shivers. “Like before.”
She almost got there, but it was too much. Damn it.
“I know, baby. It’s still fresh. Pain will ebb and fade; love and life will go on.”
“I’ll have to talk with Lily and find out how hard we’re willing to fight. Betrayal is making it hard to focus on intelligent decisions, and I can’t decide when all I want to do is lash out. That won’t solve anything and it’ll just further Sari’s cause.” She sighs and I know the thought of that conversation is making her feel even worse.
“I agree. You and Daisy need to figure out what you’re willing to do and what it’s worth to you. You’ll make the right decisions, love.”
She nods and leans against me. “I’m so bloody tired. I have no idea what to do. I’m going to need to get myself clean. Ugh.”
Chuckling, I gather her into my arms and kiss her temple. “If you’re not in pain, then I’m going to file that under ‘things to worry about tomorrow,’ and we’re going to sleep. How’s that sound?”
An imperceptible nod tells me I can shut off the lights, and I sigh as she settles in. Hatred for the vacuous cows that hurt my wife seethes within, but I can’t go after them for her. It wouldn’t fix the problem now, and she wouldn’t want me to fight her battles.
I mentally check in with our mates once she falls asleep, letting them realize the seas are calmer, and wait a bit to see if the mess she made—wherever she made it—drew the attention of our employers.
Once it’s been a few hours, I let myself drift off, figuring the phone will not ring at this point. That’s a good thing, as we have not discussed the ‘magick’ part of her skill set yet with them, and I’m not sure I’m keen on doing it yet.
I have to keep her safe. She’s not a weapon, she’s not an emotional surrogate, and she’s not up for grabs to anyone.
She’s my wife, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone abuse her anymore.
The Cat Sees The Light At The End Of The Tunnel
DELILAH
Stroking the tiger’s flank lightly, I sigh.
The pads of my fingers trace slow, aimless circles through the plush fur at Aradia’s side, each pass a silent apology for my helplessness. She blinks up at me, those improbable blue eyes glassy with disappointment, and even as her chest rises and falls in tranquil rhythm, I know there is no peace for her. The low, rumbling whine that vibrates the mattress is equal parts boredom and loss; it shakes my bones and nests somewhere in the pit of my gut, an ache impossible to name. Twice, I’ve attempted to distract her with carved marrow bones, favorite battered toys, or even a little conjuring—lights and floating feathers, a miniature swarm of conjured bees—but Aradia is unmoved. She only stares soulfully at the absence in her world.
My poor familiar has been like this for hours.
The early morning found her curled at the foot of my bed, chin on her paws, still hopeful. Noon came and went, sunlight crawling over her stripes in bright, accusing lines. Now, the windows are dark and wet with rain, but Aradia remains as shewas, jaw clenched around grief, bewildered by this newfound emptiness. I know what she’s lost, and I know there is no substitute: the blanket Preston gave her on the day she came home.
Filthy, knotted, barely a suggestion of its original checkered print, it has been her singular comfort since kittenhood. The first thing she buried her nose into when the world was too loud, the last thing she clung to before sleep overtook her. Its loss is a death, and she mourns as only animals can—with a loyalty to sorrow that leaves nothing for hope.
The hallway is a cacophony of padded footfalls, half-muffled curses, and the occasional crash of something fragile meeting its end. Rafe barrels in, hair a mess, shirt half untucked, sleeves flecked with dust. He’s breathing hard, eyebrows drawn tight, and the way he glares at the ceiling gives me the sense he’s rehearsing a fresh round of oaths in his head.
