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"How can I help?" I heard Verena ask as I hurried down the hallway, following my tether to Wane. "I can cook."
That was the best bit of news I'd heard all day. We had another cook—that made three, thanks to Wynvail knowing how to grill meat and vegetables without burning them to a crisp. The rest of us were abysmal.
No one was mentioning what we'd seen on the TV, or the argument we'd had after. We'd decided to stay and hope the protections on the safe house held, rather than fleeing somewhere new with no guarantee of safety, but no one was particularly happy.
Meteorologists had noticed a strange weather phenomena sweeping across Europe, originating in Greece. The night had been uncommonly long for the past two nights, the days unusually short, and instead of a sunset, night had fallen instantly like a black cover cast over a birdcage. And every day got shorter, like the night was swallowing it. That would have been unsettling enough without the fact the leaders of each country the dark swept over was forced to kneel, like their legs had given out, at the exact moment the shadow passed over it. The president of France, chancellor of Germany, royal family of Spain, first minister of Scotland, and prime minister of England were all sent to their knees, one after the other, like dominoes.
Like my mates described happening on Olympus when Cronus made himself ultimate king of the gods. King of the world, apparently.
Hence, we were staying right here, where it was warded and safe.
I found Wane in the living room by the window, an empty tumbler in his hand, the fancy crystal kind because Wynvail was bougie as fuck.
"Wane?" I asked quietly, not wanting to spook him.
He glanced over his shoulder, a furrow between his dark brows. "I thought you were in the kitchen with the others."
"I was." I crossed the room slowly, trying to gauge his mood. "I missed you."
He set the empty glass on the windowsill and lifted his arm in silent invitation. I approached slowly, scanning his face and hating the tiredness lining it even as relief made my shoulders slump at the sight of him unharmed and free. The scars all over his body were inescapable reminders of what he'd been through, but they were evidence of his strength and love. I didn't baulk from the sight of them, but I did hesitate to touch him.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
In response he reached out and hooked his hand around my waist, pulling me into him with a dominance that reminded me of how he fucked me in the bathroom. He shattered my whole world apart that night in the best of ways.
"I'm sure, itzaia," he promised, kissing my cheek and surrounding my senses with the strong scent of whiskey. That definitely wasn't his first drink.
"Honest answer," I murmured, looking into his quicksilver eyes. "Are you drunk?"
"Not nearly enough," he replied, his hand flexing on my waist, pulling me closer. A deep sigh left him, and he rested his chin on top of my head.
"Let me in, zivai," I murmured, sending a brush down our bond.
"Your soul is full of pain, Haley," he replied. "I won't add to it."
"I can handle it," I argued. "I can't handle you closing off the bond."
"I just need a little time to process everything," he promised, drawing back a little and tipping my head back so our gazes met. "I'm not shutting you out, Haley, I'm putting you first. As I should, as your mate." He dropped a kiss on my cheek. "Don't worry about me; compared to the others, I'm fine."
I gave him a stern look. "Don't bullshit me, Van Khama."
"Don't underestimate me, Vakhara," he fired back, dropping a lingering kiss on my lips. "I can handle this. I've been scared for a century; this is nothing."
Except it was his abuser being unleashed on the world, with ultimate power and endless reach. Cronus had tortured Wane while inside his prison. If he was that bad trapped, how bad would it be with him free?
"It's not nothing," I argued softly. "And it's okay to be scared, Wane. You'd be mad if you weren't. I'm scared, too."
I stroked up his sides, careful to avoid the places his wings had been severed from him. Images flashed through my head—Wane kneeling before Cronus's throne, the bastard hacking off his wings, Cronus sitting smugly on his throne while my mate's wings hung from the wall above him.
I sucked in a breath, shaking my head to dislodge the images. Erebus was right; I shouldn't have seen that.
"Haley?" Wane's hands tightened on my body; he stared intensely, scanning my face. "What is it?"
My throat bobbed. I glanced away. I'd told them that when my soul separated from my body, instead of floating off to an afterlife, Erebus intercepted it and kept me safe until I was ready to come back. I hadn't told them most of what we said or saw in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," I blurted, my stomach twisting. "I'm so sorry, Wane."
"Hey," he breathed, folding me back into his arms and wrapping a layer of shadows around us both. "You have nothing to apologise for."
