Page 94 of Leashed

“Don’t tangle that,” he barked. “Dammit, Lach.”

Atropos unwound a section of the thread and examined it, her wrinkled fingers gently running along its length, taking care to avoid breaking the line still held taut to an enormous spool in the center of the cabinet. “You didn’t,” she hissed, holding the thin thread up as Clotho burst through the doors, her silver eyes liquid rage.

“He deserves it,” Lach snarled back. “He—”

“Didn’t want you,” Clotho finished for her, her voice dripping with disdain. “That isn’t a crime. Right now, I would venture it was a rather intelligent decision.” She held the thread out to him and he leaned forward, unable to see anything. “Had your woman been successful in fighting your fate, her death would have been imminent to ensure your destiny did not veer from its path.” She looked into his eyes. “Boreus, I am so deeply sorry. I pushed you to her. And her to you. Had I stopped to consider such a treacherous act had been committed against your line, I would never have jeopardized her life.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. “Fix. This.”

While Lach pouted in the corner, Clotho hung her head. “There is no fixing. Only trading.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled through the pulsing pain in his foot, snatching a spool from the middle row. “Here.”

“Eye for an eye,” the old Fate sighed. “A lifeline of your worth would be an equitable trade, love line to love line.”

Grabbing one from the bottom row, he held it out to her. “Not hard to find, Atropos. Any of these will work.”

She struggled to her feet and shuffled across the marble, taking the spool from his hand and carefully replacing it. “You are a deity,” she said calmly, pressing his own spool into his palm. “In this, Lachesis has won.”

He stared at the thread, unable to see the flaw Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos could view so easily.

“Use mine.”

He looked over at Ryan, shaking his head as a new ache settled in his chest, trumping the others in intensity. “No can do, brother.” Running his unbroken hand through his hair, he swallowed hard. “I can find someone down here willing to switch for a price. Right?”

The old Fate strained up to the top row, pulling the spool close to her face to examine it. “Untampered,” she said. “A trade of equal value. Orion’s unknotted love line in exchange for yours. With this, I can make it right for you, Boreus.”

“No way,” Bo stated, scanning the rows for his place. “Owing you money is one thing. Owing you a lifetime without finding someone? No way. I appreciate the offer, Ryan, but that’s a debt I can’t take on.”

Ryan snorted. “Debt. I’ll add it to the thousands of other IOUs.” He walked over to him and tugged the spool from his hand. “Switch these love lines over and we’ll be out of here.” When he opened his mouth to protest, Ryan passed Bo’s spool to Atropos. “I have my path. I know my path. And I’m happy with it as it is. You and Alex? My path isn’t yours, regardless of how we’re linked.”

He swallowed again, eyes locked on the two spools in the wrinkled hands. “I owe you.”

They watched the old Fate delicately separate an impossibly thin thread from each, crossing the lines over and carefully aligning them on their new homes. When the spools began to turn freely, Ryan elbowed him in his broken ribs. “Probably going to want to wait a few months before you call me up asking for money.”

*

Sage’s fork droppedto her plate with a clamor, sending crumbs across the pristine tablecloth. “I don’t belong here.”

Setting his own utensil down, Nixon fixed her with a hard look. “Not with the way you’ve been acting all evening, you don’t,” he muttered under his breath, side-eying the caterer. “Go back to the hotel. I’ll make the final decisions.”

Pushing away from the table, she stood and looked down at him, the feeling she was seeing him for the first time washing over her in a tsunami of aversion to the curated perfection glaring at her. “I hate yellow.”

“Sage.”

“No,” she said, backing away from his arm when he reached out to grab her. “I don’t want this. Any of this. Not the shrimp, not the lemon slices, not those hideous yellow and green centerpieces.” When Nixon rose to his feet, she backed up another step. “I hate seafood. And lemon. And sitting at tables with strangers pretending I care about statistics and numbers and takeovers and divorces.” She took a deep breath, crouching slightly as he stalked toward her.

“Sit down and apologize.”

She met his growled command with widened eyes. “You apologize,” she spat, sliding the loose ring from her finger. “I’ve been apologizing to you for five years. I’m done.”

Caterer forgotten, he turned and slammed his napkin on the table, diving awkwardly when she tossed the ring at him. “Sage. That’s enough out of you.”

Shaking her head, she swung her purse over her shoulder, her hands shaking as she tugged her keys out. “No, that’s enough out of you, Nixon. I’m leaving.”

“Is this little rebellion because of that drunk you went slumming with? You do realize, of course, he has one use and one use only.”

She yanked the door open, breathing deep to keep from turning back to him and clawing his self-righteous eyes from his head. “I’m not settling for you anymore, Nixon.” She paused. “And I can only hope fate leads me to Bo, because I’d rather spend eternity in the slums with him than spend one more night in your glass house.”

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