He ran a hand through his hair. “You know that’s not what I want.”
She honestly didn’t know what he wanted. He’d told her numerous times that she was better off keeping her distance, and yet he continued to keep a close eye on her. Because he still felt like he owed her brothers?
She folded her arms, waiting.
“I wanted to check on you, that’s all. You didn’t seem like yourself in the training room.”
Had he come to that conclusion before or after she nearly ripped out her friend’s throat? “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”
It was easier to believe that than have him stand there, his expression understanding, while guilt churned in her stomach. There wasn’t a single thing okay about what she’d almost done to Nessa and she couldn’t handle talking about it to him of all people.
“You looked like you did in the parking lot, with the redhead,” he added, as if she’d forgotten.
She kept her back to him. “And?”
He blew out a breath. “I should go.”
Although he looked and sounded as frustrated as she felt, she didn’t try to stop him. “Maybe you should take the enchantress up on her offer.” She made herself face him. “Unless you want to wait for the bloodlust to take over.”
“You wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
She cocked her head. “What happened to me being the easiest to hurt?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Right.” She didn’t wait for him to clarify, and he didn’t volunteer. She turned away, then changed her mind, needing to know one more thing. “Why did you keep it? The Blade of the Black Heart.”
She’d assumed he’d returned the sword to Constantine when she’d left it behind, not wanting any reminders of her and Lucan’s time together. She hadn’t seen the weapon since that night—until Lucan had held it to Vaughn’s throat in the courtyard.
“As a reminder.”
“A reminder of…” she prompted, when he didn’t elaborate, the cat’s aggression prickling her insides.
“What I’m capable of.” About to leave, his fingers curled around the open door. His eyes, though, remained watchful, his body coiled like he was about to stride across the room and pull her into his arms.
She just didn’t know what he planned to do when he had her there.
And then he was gone, the door sliding shut, leaving her with only the tears she refused to cry.
Alone in Pendragon’s, Tristan stared at the glass in his hand, both halves of him aching for his mate. Kennedy had talked him into letting her look into Briana’s disappearance alone, insisting she’d get further with her family without him glowering over her shoulder at her brother the whole time.
As if it was Tristan’s fault her brother was an ass.
“You’re understandably stressed, but rearranging Dolan’s face for him won’t help us find Briana,” she’d said, then with a kiss that was more to distract him than placate him, she’d vanished.
He hadn’t wanted to let her go any more than the first time she’d crossed the veil, after she’d bargained with a Fae to save his life. If he’d known how that was going to turn out… He slumped on the stool knowing he still would have done everything exactly the same.
Whatever it took to keep his mate safe.
Pouring another drink—his fourth if he’d been keeping track—he almost dropped the bottle at the fierce rub of the cat along the inside of his skin. He pivoted, and then Kennedy was in his arms. Legs looped around his waist, she nearly strangled him with her embrace, her mouth finding his.
He fell back against the bar, holding on to her just as tight. She was back in his arms where she belonged.
Now all he needed was his sister home and life could get back to normal.
“We’ll find her,” Kennedy murmured, her ability to know what he was thinking nearly as staggering as how deep their bond had grown in just a few short months.
“I shouldn’t have been so hard on her that night.” All the signs had been there days ago, and having gone through the same sensory overload of finding his mate, he should have recognized the signs in Briana, been more sympathetic. Instead he’d fixated on why she’d kept her mate a secret.
“You just want the best for her.” Kennedy ran her fingers across his cheek, and the cat fell into a lazy purr. “She knows that.”
“And maybe if I hadn’t been such a pushy son of a bitch, she would have told me her mate was Lucan.” A fucking wraith was bad enough, but did it have to be the same one that had nearly killed Kennedy?
“Hey.” His mate tapped him on the nose, the same as she did when she wanted the cat’s attention. “I know that look. Saw it just about every time you’d walk in here and see me working behind the bar.”
Tristan ducked his head.
“If it had been entirely Briana’s choice, she wouldn’t have chosen a wraith any more than you would have a human.”
A mate had been the last thing he needed when he’d been hunting the dagger that had been used to imprison Cian. Being put in a position to have to choose between saving his brother or the mate he hadn’t expected, had turned his world upside down.
Nothing had gone according to plan, not even the amazing woman in front of him and what nearly losing her had done to him.
Her lips moved against his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Reluctantly, he eased his grip on her. “Did Dolan known anything?”
Kennedy opened her mouth to answer at the same moment the window of Cale’s office above them shattered.
A body landed in the middle of the dance floor. Cale?
They both glanced up in time to see Sorcha vault over the edge of the window and land in a crouch close to Cale.
Kennedy darted Tristan a worried look. “Did she forget who she is again?”
Sorcha stalked toward her mate, who sat up, bloodied but otherwise fine. “No, but he seems to have forgotten who I am.”
“You gave up being a huntress,” Cale challenged, pushing to his feet.
“And nothing’s changed.”
Cale shot his brother an incredulous look as though Tristan had a clue what the fuck was going on, then glowered at Sorcha. “Do you think Rhiannon gave you back the ability to flash out of the goodness of her heart?”
Whoa. Sorcha could travel from place to place again just by thinking about it? That ability had been stripped from her when Rhiannon freed Sorcha from her huntress responsibilities a few months ago.
Sorcha shook her head. “It was necessary.”
“And wiping away your memory again? Will that also be necessary?”
Tristan winced. To make sure that the huntresses—gifted with god-like powers—didn’t try to rise up against Rhiannon, the goddess made sure their memories were cleansed every hundred years, ensuring their loyalty.
Sorcha’s fierce expression softened and she took a step toward Cale. He held his ground, which Tristan had to give him credit for. Times like this, the ex-huntress intimidated the hell out of Tristan.
“That’s why you turned into a Neanderthal? You’re worried I’ll be cleansed and forget you?”
Determination warred with desperation on Cale’s face, an emotion Tristan understood completely. “I won’t allow you to be taken from me again.”
Reaching up to cup Cale’s face, Sorcha shook her head. “That won’t ever happen.”
Cale’s hands covered hers, and he tugged her close. “Locking you up seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Kennedy and Tristan exchanged confused glances, and when Sorcha looked over at him, Tristan held up his hands. “That’s a little extreme, even for me.” Mostly extreme. He’d only thought about it for a second himself when Kennedy decided he was better off staying here while she crossed the veil into Avalon alone.