Page 55 of Priest and his Anarchist

Interesting.

About as interesting as them having their “Boardroom” inside Bishop’s family home.

Earthy tobacco notes burn through the air as a Zippo snaps closed, and Bishop leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.

“Are you ready, Little One?” Nate’s question has my eyes shifting to him. His finger works his upper lip in slow strokes as the flames from the fireplace leave a scatter of soft hues over his face.

I dampen my lips. It’s not until the pendant's familiar warmth is against my palm that I realize I’ve reached for my necklace. Oh, how so much has changed.

“Always.” My head dips, but I focus on him until Brantley shifts in his chair. Being Vaden’s father, I’ve always assumed their similarities would go further than their looks, but over the time I’d spent with Vaden, it became obvious how different he was from his father, who’s a notorious caveman. Brantley, being the cool, aloof one of the three, seems detached or consistently thinking. Vaden has always been the happy one of the group. The one who can always crack a joke.

Dare I say the gentler one of them.

Maybe I’ve said that too soon, since something seemed off with him tonight.

“Why?” I ask, unsure if I want to know the answer. Whatever reason they pulled me aside tonight, it must be important. They wouldn’t risk the exposure otherwise.

Nate tries to flash one of his signature smirks, and the wrinkles on the side of his eyes deepen as he strokes his fading beard. “We need a favor.”

I blink. “What is it?” This is not good.

His mouth twitches. “Not a ‘sure,’ or ‘Of course! That’s why I’m here!’”

The flutter in my left eye is distracting, but I keep my shoulders straight. “I know better than to agree to a favor to a King before knowing what it is. Family or not…”

Silence. I don’t regret my words.

Nate exhales, the leather of his chair protesting when he leans farther back, unbuttoning his jacket. “You’ve always been admired, Luna. Whether you’ve seen it or not, but your position alone within the society should be enough to prove that.”

He wants me to answer, so I let him speak.

“When we found out that your mother was pregnant, there were reservations of what side of the two families you’d fall in. Kiznitch and Midnight Mayhem, or the Kings. We all agreed that we’d wait for you to be born, feel things out, and decide. It was apparent the day you were born that you were a King, and as you grew, we watched your interactions. How you blended with the rest of them, with the exception of Priest…” Nate’s lip twitches again.

My blood turns cold for the second time since walking in here.

“But as we all know, there have been tribulations surrounding you.” He pauses.

I’ve never been inside this office, but I’ve heard each generation has a meeting place. Maybe that is the whole point of Bishop having it here. No one is bold enough to attack a King in his own home.

“Oh, I’m aware.” There have been a few times that I’ve been reminded of my age, and sitting here with the three of them is one.

“You weren’t raised like the others were, Luna.” Bishop’s mumble has me turning to him in time for his eyes to swoop from mine to Nate’s. “They’re tough and street smart.” He’s back on me, and I feel like a little girl again, trusting him to take my hand and lead me to a place far, far away. “…but the girls haven’tbeen exposed to the same things you have. The boys, yes, but not the girls.”

Good for them.

Bishop reaches for his drink and rests it on his leg. “You aren’t going to like this favor.”

“I can openly admit that whenever Nate has said those exact words to me, I’ve not liked it. Drama aside…” The corner of my mouth ticks, and Nate chuckles from beneath his breath.

Bishop studies my face. My pulse slows as I stay focused on him. Not a single flinch. “How did you find your final years?”

My fingers twist together, exposing the scars of crescent moons in my palms. “Challenging yet rewarding. I do owe you all.”

“You don’t owe us anything, Luna.” Brantley is a man of very few words, so when he uses them, people listen. His head turns slightly as he looks at Nate from behind his shoulder. Relaxing back in his chair, he sips at his whiskey. “None of us owe the other anything.”

He’s wrong. He knows it. I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren't for the Fathers. I owe them everything, and I owe Priest nothing.

“Make no mistake, Luna,” Nate adds, and being the opposite of Brantley, I want to tune him out. “What we’re about to ask you is something we may never be able to repay you for.”

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