Still, she’d keep to herself how close she’d come, how much she had wanted it, and how only by some miracle she didn’t. She had been so very close, so close she could taste the blood and the pain she had almost caused. And she wanted to cause it. Too much.
But the question and the concern in her sister’s eyes were so real, so warm, Rhiannon felt she owed her at least a partial answer.
“I didn’t. Not because I have your moral compass, sister. We’re both aware I am not encumbered by one. Still, I didn’t use it. I can’t, Ceri. Don’t ask me why. But know that I can’t use it. It hurts and it’s eating me from inside, so you can tell Vicky she’s partially right. But also, she can stuff it. Just because.”
They both smiled, and Ceridwen covered her hand with hers.
“Will you tell me why? Someday?”
“Maybe. Maybe when there is no gaping chasm between us. When you are my big sister again. Maybe then.”
Ceridwen nodded but did not remove her hand, and Rhiannon respected that she felt nothing but body heat in her sister’s touch.
“So you fucked Lisa up?”
Rhiannon started at the language her prim and proper sister almost never used and then laughed.
“She did run away, Ceri. So I did, as you so nicely put it, fuck her up. But what if I hadn’t been there?”
“And why were you there, Rhiannon?”
Fucking sneaky witch. First Seren, now Ceridwen. An entirely family of sneaky witches!
No matter how many times Rhiannon felt she had gotten something past her sister, Ceridwen always came back with a reply that would undo her scheming.
Rhiannon sighed.
“I was in the neighborhood?” When Ceridwen just kept looking at her, Rhiannon threw her hands in the air. “I fucking live next door, Ceri! What do you want from me?”
“For you to admit that you felt her fear, her anguish, and showed up like the cavalry over the hill, like her mate?—”
“Stop right there.” Rhiannon stood up and put as much distance as the room allowed between them. “We’re not having this conversation now, and after the evening I had, I cannot think about this for probably a few good long days.”
“I’d ask what happened after Lisa hightailed it out of there, but it’s all over your face. And some of it over your clothes.”
Rhiannon looked down on her attire, somewhat tussled and in a few places ripped. She’d have to send the bill to Prudence. This was a motherfucking Dior. She scowled and ignored her sister’s smirk.
“Whatever. That isn’t the subject of this discussion. What are you doing to make sure this doesn’t happen anymore, and Prudence can defend herself without me showing up and risking my couture?—”
“Yes, because your couture got hurt in the chivalrous gesture. Right.” Ceridwen drew out the last word for what seemed like ten seconds. Rhiannon huffed out a breath.
“The point is?—”
“I understand the point, Rhiannon. Is Pru okay? She and Lisa were such an unremarkable couple. I would’ve never thought that there would be danger from that particular side.”
Rhiannon narrowed her eyes.
“What particular side were you worried that there would be danger from, Ceridwen Abigail?”
“Oh, not the full government name. I’m shaking in my boots.”
“You’re wearing fuzzy frog slippers. You should really be reevaluating your choices here.”
Ceridwen made a face, and when Rhiannon was about to launch into more insults of her attire—and she had a lot to say on that front, because surely even Ceridwen could do much better—she waved a hand in surrender.
“Okay, okay, enough. Goddess, I forgot that you would just never tire of squabbling.”
“Until I won.” Rhiannon lifted her chin, Ceridwen closed her eyes and sighed.
