Page 97 of Vengeful Mates

“Get your ass here, woman!” Slade grunted as he dragged me from the lounge to the kitchen, sitting me down on a bar stool. “Zethan’s injured.”

Abandoning me, he went hunting for whisky to cleanse my wound and drink ingest for pain relief.

“Fuck!” Aaliyah jogged from wherever she’d been working, probably the bathroom since she came out with a first aid kit and brought it to us.

My heart lightened at knowing she was alive and safe.

At the sight of my bloodstains and labored face, she gasped and gently claimed my hand. “Do I want to know? You both look a mess.”

I clasped her face with my unwounded hand, breathing in the relief that harm hadn’t crossed her. My thumb swiped across her soft skin, wanting to wipe away the dark fear in her eyes and choking the bond.

My love got hold of her emotion and dove into nurse mode, unwrapping and examining my laceration, holding her palm an inch from mine, scanning it with her powers.

“We got up to trouble, Nurse A.” Slade deposited three glasses on the kitchen counter. “I lived up to my reputation.” He tried to keep it amusing and low-key to avoid worrying her.

She snorted and cut him a scowl. “Nice try, my devil.” Our woman wasn’t buying it.

He slid the glass to me along the counter, then trickled whisky on my palm, disinfecting it prior to Aaliyah’s healing. I hissed at the sting.

Aaliyah shook her head at him, removing a bandage and dabbing the cut with it, soaking up the whisky. “There’s something else here.” She forced more magic into me, searching for the poison. “Witch’s Claw.”

Slade poured himself a whisky to drown out his rage at being defeated. “Is it lethal?”

I threw the tawny liquid back, letting the whisky burn away the pain.

Aaliyah’s gaze flicked to him. “Not if we get him an antidote. Call Castor.”

Slade called out his phone and ordered Castor to get his ass home to work on a cure. He slammed the device down on the counter and poured us another wash of alcohol.

“That fuckwit is keeping tabs on his mafia mate just as Cupid warned.” Heat on Slade’s bond lowered as Aaliyah squeezed his bicep and kissed his unscraped cheek.

Aaliyah pumped magick into my wound and my skin, tendons, and my bond tingled as flesh came together with scar tissue binding it. “You both didn’t detect him?”

Slade glared at her for pointing out our failures. “I didn’t fucking detect a hint of him but he found us, all right. Knew we’d show. Fuck. I’m such a dumb cunt! Walked into his damn trap.” He shoved the whisky along the counter and went to retrieve it. “The god of War beaten at his own reconnaissance game.”

“Does that mean kidnapping Faline is off the table?” Aaliyah dabbed at the blood with an alcohol cleansing wipe.

“Absolutely not,” Slade growled.

“She’s the key to his heart,” I threw in, reminded of the playing card Colton left as a warning. His second. The last. “We have to get her.”

Before our enemy got to our queen of hearts.

CHAPTER32

Slade

The weightof the final battle ached like an anvil sitting on my chest, and I leaned back in my chair, twisting my unlit cigar between my forefingers. Everything changed when I discovered my mate’s pregnancy. Desire for retaliation and revenge warred, at odds with my love for my old lady and family. If I died, the only place I’d rule was over a graveyard, and I sure as shit wasn’t being sent to the Underworld by a cunt like Raine.

Colton subduing Zethan and me at the casino spelled danger and uncertainty. Defeat if Castor or Zethan didn’t uncover his method and a way for us to weaken him. Our plans to kidnap Faline to draw him out failed, and crumbled like ancient Egyptian sandstone monuments lost to time.

The extent of that deceptive cunt’s power, his threat to our world, our woman, our children worried all of us, my old lady the worst. Her anguish slashed the bonds and hacked at my damn confidence at winning the war.

We desperately needed victory. To settle scores once and for all. Ease the constant throb in my temples. Loosen the chains around my ankles, the lead ball dragging me into the water’s depths to drown.

What should be the best time of my life, cause for fucking celebration—my woman growing four pups in her belly, us settling into our new mansion, Mia finding her stride—was shot down like a plane getting hit by a missile.

I always wanted a kid. Adored my niece and nephew and my men’s kids. Always had a ball with them when they came over for club parties. Probably because my childhood was so fucked up and I never had a proper one.

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