Calliope leaned forward, hands braced on the counter. “If I’m not in that carriage, the whole scheme is useless. You’re chasing shadows,and they’ll vanish the moment they realize I’m not there. This is not the time for half-measures.”
Reaper arched a brow. “Maxen dearest won’t agree to it.”
“Then I shall persuade him.” She leaned against the bar and mimicked Knight’s pose. “One way or another, if we are going to spring this trap, itwillbe real.”
A shadow fell across the counter of the bar. The air shifted.
Speak of the devil.
Calliope didn’t need to look to know it was him—her skin had already recognized him, the same way it always seemed to do. She was unsettled by how easily she noticed, unsettled by that knot of awareness.
Dark eyes met hers.
For a moment, something blazed in his expression, something that reminded her of the way his hands had held her face last night, careful, almost cherishing. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that steady, inscrutable mask. She hadn’t even brought up the subject, yet felt the refusal like a door slamming. But if he thought that ended the matter, he didn’t know her half as well as he believed.
Just you wait, Maxen Fury.
*
Trouble always camein threes.
Maxen’s morning had started with a throbbing headache and the sinking suspicion that a cycle was once again about to start. And he was right.
She was still wearing trousers.
Maxen growled, low and dangerous. “Why the devil are you wearing that again?”
She blinked at him from where she now leaned on the bar, wide-eyed and innocent, as if she weren’t already a walking temptationdesigned solely to test his patience. “Are we going to rehash this again?”
Yes. Until she stopped wearing trousers.
He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his gaze dip to where the “disguise” hugged her figure in ways that were nothing short of scandalous.
Her lips twitched, and he swore she was fighting a smile. “You’ll just have to continue to suffer through my look.”
Suffer indeed. He clenched his fists. All his hands wanted to do wastouch. Her.
“Besides,” she said. “It’s more comfortable with this sort of business.”
“Spoken like a true outlaw,” Reaper muttered.
“It’s practical,” she replied, planting her hands on her hips. “Easier to move around, less restrictive than skirts.”
Maxen pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to ten in a futile attempt to rein whatever was threatening to break loose. “Calliope,” he began, his voice dangerously calm, “if you step one foot outside dressed like that with us, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” she interrupted, arching a brow. “Forbid me? Lock me in your chambers?”
Maxen’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tempt me.” What he’d wanted to say was that if she stepped out with them, no one would believe her to be a boy. Though no one would believe it anyway. He looked at his brothers. “Are we ready?”
“We were just discussing how your mouse here thinks she should be the one in the carriage.”
“No.” She always took his white-knuckled control and made a wreckage of it, as if it were the most brittle thing in the damn world. As if last night hadn’t already cost him more self-command than any brawl in the last decade. “You’re not in the main carriage.”
“I am.” Her tone was soft and infuriatingly certain.
“It’s too great a risk.”
“And what will you do when no one follows? Tip your hat to boy in my place and say ‘better luck next time?’ They’ll know it isn’t me before the wheels have gone twenty yards.”
