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Today, apparentlyIwas the problem. To be fair, I wasn’t sure I had a legitimate counterargument to whatever they were getting ready to unload on me.
As soon as we’d taken our seats, Lyric started the meeting with a little speech about how much they all loved me and how this was a safe space. Kree was noticeably absent.
I waited patiently for the next attack.
Phalen leaned over the table, resting on his forearms. A tendril of his Shadow demon trademark hair fell forward, the dark silver catching on his short beard. The rest of his longish mane was pulled back for once. His rose-colored tee had “Real men wear pink” splashed across the front in a squiggly font. The jokester of our group was looking rather grim.
“It’s like this, Cas. You’re not sleeping. We know you’re not because the bags under your eyes are bigger than Lyric’s ass cheeks, which, despite her best efforts, no longer fit in her fighting leathers.”
“Hey!” she protested, tugging down her top to cover the elastic panel she’d had sewn into said leathers.
Phalen winked at Lyric and continued his indictment. “It’s affecting your reaction time. Everyone sees it during our sparring sessions. It’s also affecting your decisions. You’ve never been slow with an order.”
He was right. Indecision was not something I experienced. Well, not until recently.
“Your personality is different, too,” Lyric said softly. “You’re moody. Usually, you’re quite charming and sweet.”
Phalen snorted. Draven scowled at his mate but held his tongue. I let the comment go, unwilling to shatter her view of me. If Lyric thought I was sweet, so be it. I worked hard to maintain an affable persona. It made life easier.
I could walk around now without those in my presence scattering to get out of my way or dropping their eyes out of fear. Panicked whispers no longer reached my ears and females didn’t refuse to lay with me in the dark. Lyric had no idea who I once was, what wounds still marked both my skin and my psyche. Sometimes I suspected Draven forgot. Hell, they all did.
“Aaannnd,” Talia drawled, “it has to be mentioned that your beard is out of control. It’s crooked, for fuck’s sake. And matted. I fear something might crawl out of it any second.”
Lyric gagged dramatically. Everything made her nauseous these days.
My sword hand self-consciously ran over the length of the bushy growth, mildly offended. I typically kept my beard trimmed short and impeccably neat. Admittedly, I had been neglecting its care. I had more important things occupying my mind.
Phalen nodded his agreement. “Your old buzz cut has grown out and is turning into a mullet. Normally I wouldn’t mind the change, but your tired face doesn’t match the party in the back and your soured expressions are getting on my last damned nerve. You can’t even sit through a Council meeting without obviously wishing you were anywhere else but here, especially when we’reallin attendance.”
Wonderful. Now they were bringing Kree into it.
I looked at Draven. “Am I off the Council?”
“No.”
“Am I no longer the head of Embour’s security?”
Draven hesitated. Lyric’s hand fell upon her mate’s, squeezing.
“Not yet,” he finally stated.
“So, this is you putting me on notice then.”
“We’re just concerned,” Lyric insisted. “This thing with you and Kree—”
“There is nothingwith me and Kree.”
“—has affected you deeply in a negative manner, which is now affecting Embour in a negative manner.”
I shifted my chair, squaring my shoulders with my cousin-in-law. “You think I’m hanging on to some unrequited love for your sister? That it’s wrecked me to the point I can no longer do my job?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Hasn’t it?”
“No, godsdamnit!” My fist hit the table.
“I don’t buy it,” Talia said.
“Me either,” Phalen added.
