Page 70 of Fallen Court

Roark lifted a brow. Poor choice of words. I aimed at the target, frowned, and sent it back another fifty yards.

“Third Parish did what they could. You know how it is.”

I nodded, sending a few more shots sailing through the target. Calling the creatures that made up Third Parish a coven was…charitable. The Marigny neighborhood had always welcomed misfits and loners of every species. Apart from the werewolf pack, the creatures that lived there kept to themselves, and they never agreed on anything. Their golden rule was live and let live—but kill anyone that’s a threat. It was a miracle any of them had committed to helping.

“Everyone is on edge because of the situation,” Roark said. “Things have changed since the curse lifted. They might help us now, but…”

“Their magic can’t touch ours.” Even with our access to the Otherworld choked, the city was built on fae magic thanks to my parents. I knocked off five shots in a row until there was a gaping hole in the head of the target.

He nodded after a moment. “We know what we’re made of.”

“They think the mark has made me soft.” I pulled out my empty magazine and started to reload it.

“It’s not the mark that everyone is talking about,” Shaw called from the other side of the booth.

Of course he was listening. I paused to reload.

Roark cast a sidelong glance at me. “What have you heard?”

Shaw had always hung with a diverse crowd. He had been the only one of us to attend the academy—a sign of goodwill on the part of our parents. Most of us had spent our time in the human world under the care of private nurses as we settled into our primes before returning to live the rest of our years in the Otherworld, where our aging stopped. But the world was changing by the time Shaw was old enough to go. He had been in the same grade as Sirius, and I’d met a few of his friends throughout the years. Vampires. Witches. A few direct descendants of the Olympians, although they rarely came this far south. If anyone knew what the other creatures of New Orleans were saying about our family, it was him.

Shaw stepped into the space behind us and shrugged. “They’re talking about Cate.”

I stilled, bullet in hand.

“What are they saying?” I asked through gritted teeth.

Roark tensed, his shoulders squaring, and I knew he was deciding if he needed to step between us.

“Rumor went around that she’s the reason you got marked by the Hunt. People are curious, asking who she is, trying to find out where she came from, taking bets on whether or not wedding bells will ring.” He grinned at that. Shaw liked Cate. “Incidentally, if you want to give me an inside scoop on that one, there are some pretty good odds right now.”

“They’ve only known each other a month,” Roark said roughly, giving no indication that he knew the truth. He was the only one, other than Cate herself, who knew with certainty that we were mates.

“Mostly, they’re surprised that she’s human.”

I finished loading my magazine and slid it in. Turning, I emptied it into the target, but the edge of frustration haunting me didn’t diminish. I didn’t need a reminder of that debate.

“Everything okay?” Shaw asked. I glared daggers at him, and he held up his free hand. “I’m asking as a brother. I swear to the gods, I’m not going to place a bet on your love life.”

“Tread carefully,” Roark advised him in a low voice.

“Everything is fine,” I said in a clipped tone. “She’s going through a lot. I thought she’d be happier to be back.”

A half truth, but I couldn’t tell him the rest. Not while Cate was still considering whether to reject the mating bond. The last thing I needed was my little brother feeling sorry for me.

But he stared at me. “She isn’t? I mean, she seemed a little emotional about Channing.”

“She was abducted,” Roark reminded us, “and she’s barely had a minute to catch her breath.”

Except I thought she loved me. She said she did, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the revelations about our mating bond had changed that. Or at least made her question things between us enough that she hadn’t believed what I told her. I wasn’t sure where that left us.

Shaw shrugged, placing his weapon on my booth’s gun rest. “Look at it from her perspective. I’m sure she’s happy to be back, but it’s just one crisis after another.” He hitched a thumb at the door. “Out there, there’s always business to deal with, and you haven’t been in a relationship in a long time.”

“And you have?” Roark laughed.

“Probably more than you have, old man,” he shot back. “All I’m saying is that maybe you need to romance her a little.”

Roark and I shared a look.