“You’re so hot when you’re mean,” he sighs before getting down.
“Luca…” He groans, feeling his ears heat.
“Right? It’s not just me, then?” Nix whispers, looping his arm through Gideon’s other one so it looks like he’s taking them on a promenade.
“100% smokin’,” Leo agrees. “Now, let’s see how hot he is while kicking Carnell’s ass.”
The house is virtually empty by the time they get through to the back of the house.
Beyond a series of open French doors lies a large pool. Grayson was right: it’s beautiful even under the full moon, its interior lights turning the water a stunning turquoise blue.
A memory flashes behind his eyes of The Goddess’s lagoon, from all those years ago. It reminds him of what They had said:Gideon, the journey will be painful sometimes, and surprising. But if you are strong, you can protect them, and never ever be afraid to call upon us. We can hear you.
Maybe this is what They meant about the journey being painful? At the very least, he is sure that this is what They meant when They said he was to protect them. Because his family would never be safe until Carnell has breathed his last.
It helps when Gideon thinks They might be watching, approving of his choice to handle this as a challenge and not as a not-so-simple killing. He’d been prepared to do that, especially given the long list of things Gideon can lay at Carnell’s feet.
But a test like this? It’s been what his wolf has been craving since Hayes, and every day afterwards. It lights a fire inside him, one that he’d banked under his facade of urbanity; he’s eager to begin, and the need to finally draw blood is skittering along his nerve endings.
Beyond the patio and pool lay an immense expanse of well-manicured green lawn. Beyond it, he can see the heavy stone wall encompassing the castle grounds, and up on the rampart, he sees flames from what looks like torches.
Carnell has called in his guards to make a large circle about 40 feet in diameter, with tiki-style torches illuminating the space. Just behind, most of his Were guests are milling about, drinks in hand, the low hum of excited chatter creating a hum.
Someone had found Carnell a pair of white yoga pants, but he’s kept his silver disco shirt, which catches the light as he moves.
“There you are! I thought you’d changed your mind.” He chuckles, and some of the crowd do the same. Others, though, nod as Gideon makes eye contact.
Perhaps some are here against their will—victims like Nix, here to bear witness to the end of their torment. Each with their own story that Gideon knows nothing about.
“Not at all. I didn’t realize you were so eager to die,” Gideon remarks, his voice calm, almost taunting.
Leo steps in wordlessly, helping Gideon shrug off his jacket, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His hand lingers briefly, running down Gideon’s back—a gesture of silent reassurance.
With a sharp tug, Gideon pulls off his black dress shirt, revealing a loose-fitting T-shirt beneath—practical, chosen for ease of movement. The tailored pants would have to suffice, though he silently thanked the tailor for the reinforced stitching. They’d hold, for now.
“We will talk about how you’ve planned this from the beginning when this is all over,” Leo whispers in his ear, before kissing his cheek.
Carnell laughs again, accepting his own kiss from the young man. “We’ll see about that. Let’s set terms.”
“No terms. We fight, you die.” Gideon cracks his knuckles and shakes out his hands, long claws free in the blink of an eye, just as he’d taught his fierce Kitten.
“So stubborn. Just like your mother.”
“Don’t talk about her. She hated you, just as I do.”
That gets a reaction.
In seconds, Carnell is in his face, finger poking him in the chest. “We were fated mates, and you know nothing about it.”
Gideon laughs, loud and hollow. “Just because you were given a gift doesn’t mean you deserved her.” It’s the truth, and so are his next words.
“She often told me how cruel you were, and how she hated you.”
Sometimes, on dark nights after they’d been to the village to trade, Gideon would find her drunk in her bed, weeping that she must have done something horribly wrong in her past life to be fated to someone like Patrick Carnell—but that The Goddess must have taken pity on her, because They had given her Gideon.
The searing pain that accompanies the sharp slap across his face is a well-remembered pain.
“You prove my point, old man. Shall we do this? I am sorely done with your stink.” Gideon smiles. He wants to have a last look at his mates, but dare not take his eyes off his adversary.
