I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have bent the rules. Warriors with no magic don’t belong in the Hunters. They won’t make it, no matter how skilled. Tuck is case in fucking point.”
Neither of them says anything.
My attempt to bolster our numbers failed with Tuck’s last breath. It isn’t a risk I’ll take again—I don’t care who begs for the chance to defend their loved ones alongside us.
My calloused hands glide down Grace’s soft arms, her skin like silk as I exhale my guilt and stow it for later.
“Forever may he rest,” Riot says solemnly.
“Forever may he rest,” we answer.
Grace cups my jaw in her soft palm, and I melt under the feel of her fingers threading through my hairline. “Let’s eat some dinner, okay?”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and follow her into the spacious but humble kitchen; its efficiency is my favorite thing about it. Sealed wooden counters line the walls, ready to bear whatever we need: parcels from the store, cutting boards brimming with our garden production, or the occasional suturing kit and bloody rags. The large range built to feed an army hums in the center like a heart. Grabbing mitts, I hoist the roast from the oven while Grace lays the table. Riot mutters curses as he snatches as many glasses as he can carry between his thick fingertips.
I park the roast on top of the range, and the smell hits me.
Home.
“I’m sorry about Tuck,” Grace says, her graceful hands carving the meat onto our plates.
Riot drops his enormous ass at the long table that seats twelve, although we typically squeeze fifteen.
“Thank you, my darling,” I tell her, landing a kiss in her hair and carrying our plates toward a salivating Riot.
“I’m starved,” he growls.
Grace laughs. “We know.” She leans out of the kitchen doorframe. “Boys! Come and get it!”
Riot stabs at the roast, shoveling a dripping piece into his mouth before Grace and I can sit down. Boots thunder overhead and then down the stairwell, rattling the candlelit chandelier above us.
“I deployed half of us to the Night Kingdom today. Eastern outfit is sending the most. They leave tonight,” I tell Riot.
He stops mid-chew. “You think they’ll make it in time?” he asks through his food.
I nod, but I have no fucking idea if I’m right.
“They won’t know what hit ’em when our boys get there,” he growls.
Grace stares at her food beside me, and I run a hand along her thigh. There’s a certain pressure on the rest of us when we thin the Hunters like I’ve done today. Holding the line here gets riskier when our numbers dwindle.
“Damn right,” I say, shoving meat in my mouth as the kitchen fills with Hunters.
Sam plops down next to his sister, and Grace sets a roll on his plate, his fork already stabbing into the platter of roast.
Rhett, Sam’s stationmate and best friend, reaches over my shoulder to grab his own roll. “You didn’twaitfor us, Captain?”
“Sit your ass down and eat your food, Rhett,” Riot scolds.
Rhett flops next to Riot, stuffing the roll into his grin, stubble stretching across his chiseled features, and blue eyes sparking.
“How does it feel to be three decades today?” Grace asks me, running a hand over my shoulder.
“A lot like two decades, but with more muscle,” I laugh, and my wife grips me harder.
Grace hums. “I remember your two decades. You were piss drunk and wouldn’t shut up about me.”
My chin jerks to her. “How do you know that?”
