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My friend must agree because she turns to Gavran and raises a single imperious brow. “Well then, you heard him.”
Gavran’s amber eyes meet mine solemnly from across the table. He stands and places his right fist over his heart.
“What happened to you on my watch was an egregious error. One I will never be able to atone for. I promise, from this moment forward, that no group or individual associated with the Bloodbound will harm you under my orders or approval. While I cannot swear that no one will ever harm you again, I vow to do everything in my power to protect you and provide you with a safe home for as long as you choose to remain.”
His words, spoken so formally, should give me some sense of peace or reassurance. They don’t. There’s an air of expectation, like everyone’s just waiting for me to accept his apology and promise and move on, but…
I can’t.
For the first time in days, the fire inside of me flares to life, filling me with indignation. A lifetime of propriety presses in on me, urging me to do my part and say my lines, but the flame is snarling and spitting, urging me to stay strong, reminding me of Caelan’s words about not owing anyone my forgiveness.
“I appreciate your words,” I finally say, holding Gavran’s gaze so he can see my sincerity. “But I’m not yet ready to accept your apology.”
Pride explodes down our Bond from both sides, as Soren leans over and scoops me into his arms, pulling me onto his lap without a care in the world for propriety. I go willingly, feeling my muscles relax as he rubs his cheek against mine, Scent-marking me. He’s wearing a descenter, but I can still catch the faintest hint of his scent, pine and snow rich with pride and joy.
I clear my throat and straighten, addressing the rest of the room, all of whom are still waiting to hear my decision.
Dax and Vae both have been oddly quiet tonight, neither one saying so much as a word outside of individual discussions. Even now, they wait patiently for me to speak.
“I want to go,” I say with as much confidence as I can. “I want to see my mother. I want to help her. I—”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting not to break down in front of everyone when a choked sob gets stuck in my throat. Caelan’s fingers flex around mine, lending me support, and once I swallow back my emotion, I lift my chin and turn to Gavran.
He’s the leader. Ultimately, this is his mission and his decision.
He owes me this.
“I want to go. I need to see my Mother.”
* * *
An hour later, I’m ready to go, dressed head to toe in black thanks to Vaelenor. When I finally emerge from Caelan’s closet, I’ve found a pair of black jeans that fit more like leggings, a black racerback I’m fairly certain is for working out, and a black sweatshirt that took me far too long to realize is purposely cropped, not defective.
Not at all what I’d choose for myself, but Caelan said to pick anything black so long as it was easy to move in. I’m just tying the laces of the ankle boots I found at the bottom of one of the bags when Soren walks out of the bathroom. His gaze slowly rakes over me from head to toe before he lets out a growl so full of hunger it makes me dizzy.
“Gods, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, taking me by the hips and pressing his lips to mine. He pulls back, and an Omega whine falls from my lips as I chase after him.
My cheeks heat when I register the sound I just made, but Soren’s grinning like he just won some kind of prize.
“You get through tonight, and I’ll kiss you as much as you want,” he swears, making me blush even harder.
Like me, he’s dressed all in black. Unlike me, his clothes are clearly tactical—made for missions like these—and the way his clothing hugs every dip and curve of his broad, muscled form makes me increasingly anxious to get home and cash in on that promise.
Caelan stalks around the corner, slipping a shirt on over his bare chest. My eyes zero in on his abs, and a whine escapes my throat before I even realize it’s happening.
Gods, I might actually die around these males.
Caelan pauses mid-step, cocking his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”
Too embarrassed to answer truthfully, I bite my lip and do the next best thing—shrug. I’m suddenly burning up, like the temperature in the room’s been cranked up ten degrees. Fates, when did it get so hot in here?
The fire in the hearth crackles and pops, the sound abnormally loud in the silence. Caelan’s eyes dart toward the flames before returning to me, narrowing with suspicion.
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head ruefully.
“Should probably put that out, yeah? I have a feeling that keeping a live fire when you’re dealing with a lot of feelings is probably a bad idea.”
Chuckling, Soren crosses toward the hearth to put out the flames, but Caelan’s words have something hard coiling in my chest.
