A loud crash came from outside, followed by splintering wood, a blistering curse, the unmistakable thud of fists striking flesh. The beat of boots, a table toppling. Calliope didn’t need to see the storm breaking through the inn’s walls. She knew it in her bones.
Maxen had arrived.
The world might not be breaking today, but this inn just might.
“Fragile?” she taunted.
Peregrine’s smile didn’t falter as he lazily laid his arm over the armrest of the chair and pointed the pistol at her.
“We’ll see about that,” she finished.
*
The door gaveway beneath Maxen’s boot with a splintering crack. Wood tore from its hinges, and he stepped into the chamber, eyes finding Calliope instantly. Peregrine rose to his feet, the pistol in his hand snapping to him.
Maxen paid him no mind.
He saw only her.
“Calliope.”
She sat on the bed, her posture proud, defiance flashing despite the pallor that robbed her cheeks of color. A smile lit her face when their gazes locked. The very sight of her rent him asunder.
He strode across the room, lowering onto one knee before her. He clasped her chin between two fingers, tilting her face left then right, hunting for any signs that she’d been harmed.
“Did he hurt you?”
Her throat worked. “No.”
“Did he touch you?”
She shook her head, hair brushing against his hand. He almost pulled off his gloves so he could feel the slight brush.
Good. Then on to business.
He started to rise but paused when his gaze was caught on her wrist—by rope burns. Thunder roared in his skull.
Peregrine, this bloody blackguard.
Slowly, he rose, framing the space between her and the man across from them. A pistol trained on him, almost making him laugh. Did he believe that would stop him? Make him hesitate?
He stepped up to Peregrine and grabbed him by the collar with both hands, hauling him up from his seat and slamming him back against the nearest wall with a force that rattled.
“Maxen!” Calliope cried out in alarm.
“It’s all right, love. He won’t kill me.” The barrel of the pistol pressed against his chest, the hard mouth of it finding his heart. Maxen looked down at it, then back at Peregrine’s cold, infuriatingly amused eyes.
No, he wastoyingwith him.
His brothers fanned out behind him, and Maxen could feel the wave of their agitation, their fury.
“Go on,” he said softly to Peregrine. “Pull it if you dare. I will rise from my damn ashes like a demon and devour you whole.”
Drake cursed. “Maxen.”
“Well,” Reaper drawled. “That escalated nicely.”
“Let me put him down where he stands,” Knight said.
