Page 22 of Vengeance of the Gods

“We need Bridger.”

Arlet’s words haunted her. A reminder of what the bond was so clearly trying to tell them. If the tie from the night they summoned Remus, the night they all became bonded to each other by blood and a dead demigod, had wanted to keep Bridger out, it wouldn’t have made him dream of the life he’d been trying to forget, and it definitely wouldn’t have allowed him to be the one who came to get her this time… It could have chosen Khort.

“I’m sick of losing, Bridger. Sick of being considered weak because of this fucking curse. I want our world to know peace.” It wasn’t just about stopping Marlena—it was about Tolevarre and all the innocent lives caught up in the midst of a sisters’ spat. “I’ll stop at nothing to break it, to get back to the people I love. No one is going to stand in my way.” She stared him down, eyes flicking to the open alleyway behind him in case she needed to make a run for it. “Not you. Not Marlena. Not in this world or our own.”

Instead, Vega watched as Bridger sidestepped, clearing the path for her. “Lead the way.”

10

Bridger picked up a photo in a gold frame, bringing it into the stream of light filtering through the window.

It was Vega in a simple white wedding dress doing nothing to show off her natural beauty. The material looked stiff and wrinkled, like it’d been pulled out of a box moments before taking pictures. Her hair was pinned back in a tight bun, and her makeup washed out her usually bright eyes.

Vega looked nothing like he’d imagined her to on their wedding day. A vision he’d once been able to see vividly.

Next to her stood a man with neat features and an unassuming face. “Vega, this guy looks like he sleeps with a fucking nightlight.” His smile looked too formal to be happy.

Vega deserves someone who smiles at her like I used—Bridger didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Standing in the home she shared with another man wasn’t something Bridger had ever expected to experience. He’d spent the first fifteen years of Vega’s curse wondering what her lives were like, and now here he stood, inserted into one directly.

She poked her head around the corner and noticed the picture in his hands. “I need you to take this seriously.”

Bridger could feel the frustration radiating off her skin, even from this far across the room. He scoffed. “I am taking this seriously. You told me to look to see if I noticed anything that could be cursed.” He wiggled the picture in his hand. “This looks like a curse to me. You looked miserable.”

Vega rolled her eyes, snatching the picture from him. Her eyes raked over it, completely unreadable. “I was. The dress was a size too small, but his mother insisted I wear the ugly family gown. She even told me it wasn’t the size of the dress that was the problem.”

Anger simmered low in Bridger’s core, his eyes taking their sweet time up Vega’s body. He started at her boots, slowly creeping up until his eyes caught on a black stone and golden band twinkling with every move of Vega’s hand.

Bridger’s breath caught in his chest.

She’s still wearing it.

It was on the opposite hand than normal, causing Bridger’s eyes to scan to her left finger. Another ring, shiny and silver with a single stone and decorative band took the spot where Bridger’s sword piece should be.

The thought of Vega with another man shouldn’t bother him—they’d been down that road. It doesn’t work, he lied to himself.

Bridger moved on before thinking too hard about it.

He wanted to enjoy the view, but he couldn’t look past the darkening marks around her neck. The flame of his rage grew. So much for moving on…

Some lives seemed to suck any life she had out of her, but this was Vega. My Vega. And he almost said so before being interrupted.

Vega’s voice calmed the wildfire of wrath growing inside him. He didn’t have time to think about what that meant. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Bridger asked, snapping out of his daze and following her into the kitchen.

“Like you’re thinking of me naked,” Vega quipped with a cat-like growl, slamming a drawer a bit too hard. She pulled out a hammer and whacked the frame a dozen times before she seemed content that she’d beat it enough to check it wasn’t cursed. She swept the glass into the trash can and shoved the wrecked mirror under the kitchen sink, shutting the cabinet door.

Apparently, she thought he’d drop the subject and move on, but Bridger liked pushing her a little—call him a masochist, but he’d always loved being on the other side of Vega’s silver tongue. If he was distracted by her sassy-ass mouth, then he wouldn’t have time to think about breaking the neck of whoever had left those bruises on her.

You’re here to save yourself, not cause more problems. Bridger wasn’t ready to unpack the emotions of it all just yet, choosing to shove them deep, unshielded and ready to crawl to the surface at any moment.

Bridger shrugged, picking up a trinket inside a potted plant. “I hadn’t gotten you completely naked in my head yet. I was distracted by the marks on your neck.”

Vega chucked a cooking utensil at him—Thank gods it wasn’t the hammer—but even without his powers, Bridger still had quick reflexes and ducked in time. “I understand you’re angry with me, but you could at least pretend to be nice. We have no choice but to be around each other.” He closed the distance between them and held his hand out for Vega to grab the ceramic frog from his palm.

Her eyes glanced down at it, and her frustration was palpable as she jutted a hip. “If I’m not trying to kill you, I’d say I’m being sugary sweet. Which is way more than you deserve.” She plucked the frog from his palm and threw it down the drain, flipping a switch on the wall that started some kind of terrible grinding and clattering noise.