Especially then.
He didn’t like her eagerness to head straight into danger. This wasn’t just about strategy. It wasn’t even about the mission anymore. It was abouther. At the same time, he didn’t want to leave her alone at the tavern while they hunted. Didn’t want her open to such risk. And damn him, but he didn’t want herfar from him, either. And he couldn’t let his brothers do this alone.
Bloody everlasting hell.
“She stays close,” Maxen growled.
Knight frowned. “Then we are doing this.”
“We’re not using her,” Maxen clarified stonily. “We fake a move. A discreet exit. Whisper the details through the town’s veins. Make it sound like we’re whisking her off to a safe place.”
“And when they bite?”
Maxen’s face darkened. “We bite harder.”
Drake folded his arms. “And where does she go?”
Maxen turned, eyes hard. “With me.” As his side at all times.
Knight’s brow lifted. “You think that’s wise?”
No.
Moving forward with this might just be catastrophically unwise.But he couldn’t do what his brothers wanted any other way. She’d already cracked open parts of him that hadn’t felt anything in years. And after what had happened to Reaper at her hand, the night of rushing around searching for her, Maxen wasn’t taking any chances.
He could even envision her. Calliope, stubborn as a mule, pistol hidden somewhere on her body, ready to act brave. His brothers would guard her well, but what if something went wrong and he wasn’t close?
His gut stung at the thought, sharp and merciless. No. Not again. He’d let her run free once. He wasn’t making that mistake again, not while an unknown enemy was circling her like a vulture. Not while blood had already been spilled.
“She’ll be safer at my side than anywhere else,” he said.
Drake didn’t argue. Neither did Knight. They knew. Once he made that call, there was no recalling it.
“When?” Knight asked, his eyes twin coals of violence. “I’m in the mood to bite.”
So was Maxen.
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Calliope stood atthe bar, foot tapping while Reaper sat on a high stool a few feet away, coat hanging open, a coin flicking from finger to finger. Knight stood in the far corner, silent, arms folded, his gaze fixed on the street through the window. Dagger was there as well, turning a dagger lazily in his hand.
This morning, the tavern was cold, the kind of cold that crept under her jacket and settled there. Beneath, she wore a fresh set of shirt and trousers, this pair a soft brown. The place where fire ought to crackle was barren, which didn’t help, but she suspected it best not to ask. Strangely, smoke still grasped at the interior. Not much, but enough to be noticeable.
Did Maxen smoke?
She’d never glimpsed him with a cigar, but the scent still clung to him at times. Speaking of which, where was the man? Every minute she waited for him to make an appearance, her nerves prickled more and more.
Waiting gave her mind too much time to think.
And, unfortunately, to remember.
The memory was a dangerous heat in her breast, one she kept trying to tamp down like an unruly fire. The moment kept replaying in flashes—the way his mouth had gone still, almost startled, before answering with something so controlled shealmost wished it would snap. Well, for that man, control probably had snapped. There was even more than one kiss. And he kept touching her as well. But even his control snapping possessed control! Ah, sun and stars, the way his hands had held her face like they weren’t allowed anywhere else.
And the way she had almost wanted them to be.
Foolish.
