Page 161 of Creatures that Breathe

His voice is a dangerous purr that sends warm sparks down my spine. “Everything?”

I smile slowly, raking my fingers through his soft brown curls. “Everything. Take it, it’s yours.”

A growl rumbles through him and shoots straight into my heart. His head swoops down, lips seeking mine hungrily, devouring me in a blistering kiss. My knees go weak, my head reeling from his possessive touch and the heady taste of his mouth.

He breaks the kiss with a ragged breath, eyes dark and hooded. Curses the Gods. “We have an audience,” he murmurs.

I blink in confusion before noticing Atlas stalking toward us across the sun-kissed sand, features carved in stone.

Gradually, Cross slides me down his body, smile ratcheting higher and higher as I purposely grip every hard curve on the path down, wiggling at the hardest until I’m flat footed and peering up at him. “You’d really be fine if I wanted Atlas?” I check, glancing at the leader of the Blackguard as he stops ten meters away, hands folded neatly, clad head to toe in black, cold eyes raking across the horizon. Giving us our moment.

Big softy.

“If he’s who you desired, I’d make sure you’d get him.” The edge in Cross’s voice tells me he would do so with or without Atlas’s consent. And it really shouldn’t be endearing, the threat of execution to get a boyfriend. “Do you want him?” Cross asks, voice like gravel, a glare pinned on Atlas.

Jealous.

It’s a really, really good look on my spymaster. “No,” I assure him. “Atlas would burn the realm for the Blackguard.” I press my nose into Cross’s chest and inhale deeply, savoring his familiar scent before continuing. “You’d sacrifice yourself for the world.”

“For you,” he corrects.

“You’re a hero, Cross. With virtues brighter than Heracles and Perseus combined. Operating in shadows and having blood on your hands doesn’t change that. Monsters take and abuse and punish, monsters don’t feel guilt. You’ve always fought for what’s right. And it’s a battle I want to fight by your side.”

“It’ll be a war,” Atlas warns, closer but maintaining a distance, as if he’s very aware of Cross’s latest rise in possessiveness. “And it’ll to tear the realms apart before it ends.”

“I’m ready,” I declare, unwinding from Cross to wrap Atlas in a tight hug. He’s been away, minding his own curse while Cross and I have remained in paradise. Fitting how my best friend is willing to protect the love of my life at any cost. The Chire kisses my temple, hand floating respectfully above my spine, right where he’s written his own name in permanent ink, smashed in the middle of the rest of the Blackguard’s signatures.

My family.

“You’ll stay out of trouble,” Atlas demands. “And call me the moment you remember something.”

“I’ll call you when I want, lassie,” I retort playfully. “And you’ll sit, pop a scone, and relax when I do.”

He shoots me a glare even as his mouth curls into his usual cruel smile. “You’re right.”

I wind back into Cross, stepping under his outstretched arm and letting it drape over me, warm shadows splashing up my legs.

“What’s the status?” Cross asks.

I’ve given Atlas and Rune every known Phoenix I’d tattooed on my family tree, but it’s been impossible to find them. Rune guesses they’re going by new names. Still, he searches, and hopefully someone will get sloppy or lazy, or realize they aren’t better alone.

“Sin has a lead on a Phoenix,” Atlas says, expression hard. “No relation, But a start. Luke’s establishing a base in Atlanta, and we’re moving in as support.”

“Do you really think they’ll find one?” I ask, twisting to face Cross. “Without us, I mean? If anyone could track one down, it would be us.”

“There’s a bounty for your head,” Atlas reminds me grimly. “Queen Vinia will stop at nothing to avenge her son’s death. The Queensguard are hunting for you, and they kill first, ask questions second.”

I scoff. “As if you don’t.”

“For Draven?” A small smile plays over his lips. “It’s possible my gun would misfire.”

“And he only cleans those three days a day,” Cross retorts, wryly.

A roll of Atlas’s navy eyes. “Give me leads when you have them. Otherwise, limited contact. No blowing covers. Stay dark.”

“Outside cookie time,” I add.

“Outside tea time,” Atlas echoes, as if I care about leaf soup. To Cross, he adds, “Zeke will swing down every weekend to check in. He’s been feeling cooped up, let him out a bit for me.”

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