Page 123 of Deceived Wrath

“Make it two, and you’ve got a deal.”

I barely make it through the first book before Scout’s eyelids start to droop. I quietly close the book and brush his hair back from his face. I still can’t believe he’s here.

It has been such a long time since I spent more than a few days with Scout, and I think it’s going to be a while before I get used to it.

I just wish it didn’t have to take Ray getting sick for me to finally make a change.

Part of me worries that I might be too late, that I’ve already missed too much.

But as I look at Scout’s peaceful face, I almost start to believe that I can make up for it.

Almost.

I get to my feet and sneak out of his room, heading back down the hall to my office.

While Kieran left much of his weapons bunker intact, I didn’t like the idea of being locked away in there and Scout not being able to reach me. I’ve already missed too much. I’m not putting another barrier between us, not even for work.

When I enter, I find Fiona standing in front of the sad-looking bookshelf that holds a few books and a single framed photo of my mother and me.

I’m not much older than Scout in the picture, and I’m beaming at the camera as my mother stands behind me, her hands on my shoulders, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m days away from losing her.

A sharp, instinctive anger cuts through me at the sight of Fiona picking up the frame.

I stalk over to her. “What the hell are you doing?”

Fiona sucks in a small breath, almost dropping the picture out of fright.

“I… Shit, sorry. I wasn’t… I wasn’t snooping. I was just looking.”

“Don’t touch my things.” My words come out harsher than I intend, but I don’t apologize.

Her cheeks redden as she fumbles to set the frame back exactly where she found it. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

She steps away fast, like she expects me to snap again. Normally, I would. Keeping people out is easy, an instinct I barely even think twice about. But tonight… Somehow it feels wrong.

I drag a hand down my face as Fiona makes to leave.

“Fiona.”

She pauses mid-step, and I force myself to take a breath, to try and calm the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“I shouldn’t have snapped. That wasn’t…necessary.”

She spins around, her blue eyes widening. “Did you just apologize to me?”

“Yes,” I mutter. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.

“Sit.” I motion for her to come toward the couch.

She hesitates before crossing over to the couch and perching on the edge, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed to actually relax. Her eyes watch me closely as I reach into the bottom drawer of the desk and pull out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

I pour her a glass and hand it to her, though she stares at it like it might explode.

She blinks up at me with those ocean eyes. “Is this for me? Like, am I actually allowed to drink this? Or is this some test to see if I’m slacking on pool-cleaning duties?”

I huff a laugh as I pour myself a drink. “I don’t think I’ve been that bad.”