Page 35 of A Sweet Destruction

Of course, it was Carson. There was no one more precious to the Empire than Soren’s old Match who’d defected and had apparently been working for the Prince for several years before that, bringing letters to the Emperor back to Vir.

Peter had his fair share of things to say, especially relating to the Prince’s sly comment about me and Ford. Everyone knew who Ford and I were to the people of Muli, knew that my official assignment as a spy often had me playing the role of merchant on the black market.

Still, it was unsettling that the Prince knew. We were actively engaging in a crime, even if both governments turned a blind eye.

Peter’s strongly worded lecture was prematurely cut off by news that they’d managed to break through to the Bridge.

From the outside, it still looked covered in rubble, but a very smart suggestion from Freya had us digging a tunnel down to the Bridge and keeping up appearances that we were still working our way through the rocks.

Freya herself had been the one to finally break through. She was literally the only person who could do so, able to survive an accidental fall through the Bridge.

With that breakthrough, Peter had sent us off with the orders to take some time to gather our things, as we’d likely be Crossing as soon as the next day to gather supplies and regroup before we were sent off into the unknown of Muli.

Edeka had said they’d return in three days, but knowing Elijah—who would no doubt be our escort—he’d show up a day early just to spite us.

After eight years of jumping back and forth between worlds, it took me all of two seconds to gather what I needed. Even with as much jewelry as I wore, the only thing that had really become precious to me were those pills.

Pills I would hopefully have access to again in just a handful of hours.

Don’t you fucking dare, the Bond growled at me, awake enough now to realize what had sent it into a coma for so many years.

You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, I shot back, holding true to my promise that I would shamelessly slaughter it again if given the chance.

The only other thing I did before Crossing was go on a run with Sky, who was pressing his snout to my shoulder. I reached up blindly to scratch the underside of his chin, keeping my eyes on the horizon.

The urge to run out into it and never come back was strong, but I could never do that to Sky. To Freya and Bellamy and Soren and Peter.

Another spin of that logical cycle in my head, and I found another reason to start taking the suppressant again.

One person had enough power over me to make me want to abandon my responsibilities to everyone else.

“You should really be wearing more layers,” Ford’s gruff voice sounded behind me.

Good God, did I conjure him up? I had been thinking about him an awful lot, but that was beside the point.

Sky started to make a low rumbling noise in warning, and I patted his neck twice, our silent way of communicating that I was okay. He was protective over me, but he wouldn’t do anything that would hurt Ford and by proxy hurt Shadow.

I didn’t turn around as I answered, “If you feel strongly about it, you should do something to fix it.” I hardly recognized my voice, it was so sucked dry of emotion.

I didn’t have to look at him to feel him, to know he was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw hard. Or as he moved closer, enough that his scent started to create a cocoon of warmth around me.

The Bond released a contented sigh. Then promptly started spinning around in the back of my mind like an excited puppy.

I knew exactly what it wanted me to do, but I’d long trained myself to view its desires in its most general, sterile form.

“Here,” Ford said, stepping up next to me, right as Sky kicked one of his hooves across the dirt in warning. I stroked his chin again, then slid my eyes over to Ford’s extended hand.

He was holding one of his flannels, an easy layer of warmth to slip under my canvas jacket. It suddenly felt like someone was squeezing my heart in their fist.

“Put it in my saddle bag. I’ll use it if I need it,” I said, speaking to the flannel rather than to Ford. Emotion, a depth of which he wouldn’t understand, churned up a storm in my chest.

This was a sick, twisted coincidence. That he’d offer me his clothing right at the moment I was reflecting on the methods I’d used to manage the Bond.

Ford thought he was extending an olive branch, calling back to the early years of our partnership where I’d had a habit of misjudging the weather and needed to turn to him for an extra layer of clothing. He would chalk it up to my forgetfulness, too focused the task at hand to consider how cold it would be outside.

The reality was that it was intentional, a sly method to wrap myself in clothing that smelled like him to calm the Bond down.

I forcibly kept my eyes on the horizon while Ford moved behind me. Fuck all that did to help me.