Page 6 of Mage Massacres

“That,” I agreed, pointing at him. “The mystery of the disgusting description of what eyeballs taste like. Why are we talking about this?”

He grinned at me. “Squirrel.”

“Oh, look. Something shiny.”

I rested my head against his shoulder as we cackled over nothing. When we caught our breath, I sighed lightly, feeling a fraction of the pressure leave my chest.

“Really, though. Thank you, Jack. I needed your weird version of a pep talk this morning. More shit has hit the fan, and we’re about to leave for Northern Ireland to deal with it. I feel like we won’t be getting another off day for a while, and it hasn’t been just the two of us in a hot minute.”

“We’ll go out when all this is over. You, me, a bottle of tequila a piece, and blackjack in the back room of a dark, shady bar. Sound good?”

“You’re the fucking best,” I stated with absolute certainty. “Have I told you recently that I love you?”

He kissed the top of my head, whispering, “And you have company. Love you more, bitch. I’ll check in when I can.”

Jack stood, giving me back my tequila as he pushed himself through the Void with a wink. I took a sip before tucking the bottle between my legs.

My fae popped his head around the door to the rooftop patio, his footfalls soft and hidden by the loud chirping of nearby birds. His icy eyes had dulled with concern, the corners of his lips turned down in a frown.

“Are you—”

“Okay?” I finished for him. “I wasn’t, but I will be.”

He sighed deeply as he sat beside me, similar to the way Jack had, only closer, more confident in his purpose. He gripped my hand, his fingertips tracing intricate circles over my knuckles as he nodded.

“I was worried; we all were. York said to give you some time.”

“I did need a minute,” I admitted, attempting to explain why.

“I was trying to wrap my head around what happened, though I can’t see past the part where I failed to do something properly. My failure resulted in Palmer’s death and a rash decision to seal our bond without his permission. I fucked up, and then I tried to fix it, but again, I couldn’t do that, an—”

Vaughn cut in quickly, his brows furrowed. “He was alive when I got to him, Lo. All I did was try to boost his healing, but I couldn’t speed it up any more than you had already done. He’s okay because of you. He would have healed at the same rate had I not come outside at all.”

“It still shouldn’t have happened, Vaughn.”

“And you aren’t to blame for that,” he stressed. “You may have done what he asked of you, but you didn’t design that spell.”

“I know. It’s over now,” I murmured. “He got what he wanted out of it, right? He says Raguel can’t track us through him anymore. That’s the important part.”

Vaughn scanned my face, his expression unreadable as his hand stilled. His sudden silence was heavy in the morning air. I felt like he was waiting for me to say more.

There were no other words.

Palmer’s death had had a purpose, but every action caused a reaction and all that bullshit.

I was just the beginning of the ripple effect.

With that last thought, I tugged the bottle of tequila from between my thighs. The warm liquor burned my throat, taking my breath with it as I swallowed. That suffocating feeling was bearable in comparison to the crippling panic I’d felt earlier.

I gave Vaughn a weak smile, holding my tequila out as a peace offering. He took the bottle, turning it up, then suppressed a full-body shiver as he grimaced at me.

“How do you drink that without a chaser? It's hot.”

“It’ll put hair on your chest, Fae.”

“I don’t know what that means. Fae aren’t inherently hairy beings.”

I giggled lightly at his confusion. “It’s an old southern saying for me, but it’s used in other places too.”