Page 127 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“Yes, they certainly are.” I grin at Audra. “They’re written in her hand, after all. Lifetimes of information. Whatever you want to know, it is here.”

She chuckles. “Me? You’re serious.”

“Certainly. Once we’re all gathered, we can proceed. There are answers here. I’m sure of it.”

Her fingers skim over the cover of a journal and she stops. "Hel." Her gaze lifts. "Where are the rest of Mom's journals? You know, like the one I was reading the other day?"

"Still in your bag. Why?"

"Get it. Please."

Her urgency spurs Helene into action. She returns seconds later with her sister's satchel, and from the depths, Audra draws another bound book.

Oh. I forgot one.

"It's the same," she crows. "I wasn't reading from Mom's journal. She was reading from one of mine. It was a map. Oh, Hel."

Helene has gone pale.

She might fear us. It’s sensible to stay wary, to observe. But there is enough trust for her to let me see her truth beneath the walls and the defenses.

Her anguish remains.

Yet she always handles it.

She also doesn’t shift her eyes from me. “Why wait? If Wren is busy then we can start without him. I’m sure he already knows all of this. Ah, shit. I didn’t make the coffee. Hold on.”

Nicholas clears his throat, a clear and wordless warning to not push her too far tonight. He understands the pain, too, her exhaustion at pretending to keep it together. And tugged between duty and worry, I wonder if he’s not right.

When was the last time I felt this way? I can’t remember. There’s never been enough room to do anything but fight.

Chapter 26

Helene

Iache for a kiss that never happened.

I remember the sensation of Nicholas’s large hand on my neck and the almost press of his lips to mine. The tension of waiting to do more than share the same air.

Disappointment isn’t a good look on anyone, and certainly not on me. I’m not sure why it matters.

I remember Wren’s fingers on my waist. How he knew where to touch until I came apart for him.

Or Forest’s mouth, the bruising heat. My body reacting against my will.

My gut tells me something about Nicholas that's probably not correct.

It says he’ll be the roughest, the hungriest, barely restrained and brutal. And when a man who prides himself on restraint finally lets go, everything changes.

He’d smiled at me, almost. Even his face held back. But damn did I want to see more.

My hands shake and spill inkblots of coffee grounds across scratched countertop, resting on white and yellow checkers like evidence. My lack of control is noteworthy.

I feel them, both of them, biting down on amusement and watching me toss grinds into the sink.

Attention lands on my lower back and fixates there until heat curls through my muscles.

There isn’t enough caffeine in the world to make any of this make sense. Not when there are two other enormous men seated around the small, banged up kitchen table that I may or may not have gotten after someone put it on the curb.