Page 217 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Carr—”

“No, you know what? I’m not done yet. You’ve been lashing out at everybody within reach since shit went down with Reagan—me, Cali, fuckin’ Gio, who’s bendin’ over backward to prove he’s in this with you, brother. Pushin’ fuckin’ Freya away because you burrowed so deep inside that skull of yours you forgot you weren’t the only motherfucker that lost somebody on portal day—and, apparently, forgot your mother’s goddamn crimes aren’t yours to atone for.”

“Carrson.”

“Or maybe it was what? You finally feel the weight of that mate bond after watching that shit with Ansel Callahan?”

“Yes,” I gritted out between my teeth, throat working as his hard eyes locked on mine. “Lana—” I shook my head, noting my cousin’s fist where it clenched against his bicep. When I lifted my gaze, I watched his soften incrementally—an inch, if that, but he was giving me a bit of leash, probably waiting to see if I’d hang myself again.

“Pushing her away so you don’t hurt like that—feel like that—again… it won’t work, Cy. That shit’s woven into your fucking soul—she’s made for you, man. Or, I guess you were made for her.”

“I know,” I muttered. Because he was right. Because I’d stood on that shoreline, watching the burning of legends, watching an assassin whose name we whispered around fires shatter…

And decided I couldn’t fucking do it. Couldn’t survive that unavoidable ending. One way or another, one of us would break our promise. One of us was bound to send the other sailing.

“It’s bullshit, Cy—look, I know neither of us had great fuckin’ examples, but she’s tryin’, and you’re giving her nothin’.”

Half debating lighting up right in the hallway, I met those concrete sapphires. “I know.”

Carr held my gaze for a long beat, glowering with all the irritation of the last four months.

Slowly, one corner of his mouth tipped up. Then he cuffed me upside the head—my shadows hissing. “About damn time.” The shithead knocked a shocked laugh out of me when he hurled his arms around me and squeezed. “Welcome back, motherfucker. Now. Where do we hit first?”

There was no answering as her door swung open, and Freya’s eyes narrowed on the entourage waiting for her.

“What the fuck now?” she bit out by way of greeting.

“No wonder you two fared so well together,” I muttered, releasing Carr.

“Maleficent is mostly tolerable after coffee.”

My cousin might’ve smirked down at her, but her eyes were locked on me like a homing beacon. Only when Vesper cleared her throat did I remember I’d come with a peace offering, and I held out the cup.

She eyed it like I’d hoisted a snake in her face.

On second thought, Freya probably would’ve trusted a python more at that moment. Without so much as a flicker of emotion cracking her mask, she glanced between my Wings before shouldering past me. My eyes flicked to Carr as he shrugged and followed.

Good luck, numb nuts.

Thanks, dick.

You made your bed.

Yeah, yeah.

The asshole smirked as he plucked the coffee out of my hand, nearly upending the tray when he snatched another, then misted through the shadows to her side. When Carr handed Freya her cup, she glared at it, but the real knee to the balls was watching her hand it to Gio as he passed us outside her office.

“I already had my ration, Commander,” he said, a pinch in his brows.

She just shrugged. “Merry Christmas.”

“In August?”

Freya flashed him a wink that made my jaw ache. “Every day is Christmas when we might not see sunset.”

“Christ,” he chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk, but he lifted it in thanks as he continued on his way.

With a sigh, I followed Freya and Carr into the den and over to her serial-killer board of missing pieces.