Page 86 of The Bonds of Indigo

“Let me go! Why are you holding me?”

“Wait!” Rane practically shouts. “You’re hexed.”

She goes completely still in my arms. The hand that was lightly pushing at my side suddenly fists into my shirt instead. Her heartbeat slows—not calm, but constricting—and I can feel the panic rising in the way each breath shudders out of her chest.

“You just noticed, brother? You’re losing your touch.”

I turn toward Atlas. He keeps his eyes locked on Yesenia, but I see the subtle shift of his hand sliding behind him toward his gun.

That would be stupid, but I love that he wants to protect her. However, if either of those siblings makes a wrong move toward Amarah, they’ll be dead before Atlas even brushes the damn holster.

“Don’t worry,” Yesenia continues with a careless hum, flicking her gaze between us. “Those things are so last century. Kind of bullshit they still do that to us. Sorry you’ve got one.” Her smile widens. “Stay for a bit. I’d love to pick your brain.”

She can’t be older than twenty—twenty-five at most—but she talks like she’s been around for centuries.

“Sorry.” Amarah’s voice is quiet now, steady in a way that screams she’s forcing it. “We’ve got to get going, but… thanks for the help.”

That’s the cue I need. I’m prepared to steer her away when the siblings step directly in front of us, blocking her path.

“Vendra doesn’t talk to us,” Yesenia says, folding her arms as if she has every right to stand in our way. “But I don’t need her predictions to tell me you didn’t stop in this town for nothing.”

She smiles, and I hate it. Maybe because she tried to behead me. Maybe because her brother is looking at my girl like she’s something to study. Or maybe because⁠—

Wait.

My girl?

No. Nope. Rewind that shit back. She’s not my girl.

She’s not my anything. I call her my little slayer because… alright, I have no good justification for it, but still. Not my girl.

“I know my direction,” Amarah says firmly.

“Are you sure?” Rane asks, posture softening, voice dipping into something uncomfortably gentle. “I’m older than my sister, and I’ve been working magic for a long time. I might be able to help.”

“You can fuck right off,” I bite out. The only thing I’d let him help with is dying.

“Alright, alright—down, dog,” Yesenia mutters through gritted teeth.

Atlas jumps in before I decide to test how hard a Necroth’s skull really is. “Hey now, we’re all friends here. Name’s Atlas. We can be civil. We don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves.”

He’s right. When I look around, the authorities are busy tending to the injured. The Pyrehounds have already dissolved into ash, leaving behind those four-pointed star markings that stain the ground like scorched runes. No one’s giving us more than a passing glance… yet.

But the newscasters are coming. Crawling toward the wreck like vultures with microphones.

“Let’s walk,” Yesenia says, and while every instinct I have wants to go in the opposite direction, Atlas falls into step beside her.

Rane offers his hand to Amarah.

I take a slow, deliberate breath. Now that I know what he is, I will not hesitate to rip his head clean off his shoulders if he touches her.

Amarah doesn’t take his hand—no surprise there. But when she jerks away from me, that does catch me off guard. I don’t stop her, though, because she moves to my other side, deliberately placing herself closer to me and farther from the creature.

Good.

We move, putting distance between ourselves and the smoke, the sirens, the chaos. Atlas keeps talking with Yesenia, their conversation nothing but static in my ears.

Then Rane and Amarah stop.