Page 89 of Penny for Your Saints

Isit behind the wheel of the stolen panel van, my finger gently tracing the ring of punctured half moons that circle the first joint of my right thumb.

A gentle shimmering heat rises just behind my eyes; Louise, on the other side of our bond, touching back in, letting me know that she's all right back at her place on the yacht, still docked in the marina as we prepare to get underway at dawn tomorrow.

Drowsily, my fingers move to the space where my collar bones meet as I watch the strip mall, my focus lingering on the laundromat and Service Sally’s Uniform Emporium just next door.

I wait patiently for Frank and Quentin to emerge, my fingers lingering over the significantly larger bite mark just beneath my left clavicle.

Just like before, I feel Sébastien call back along the bond even though he’s across town picking up groceries—like a warm crackle of static at the beginning of a record.

Beneath the two of them, Sébastien and Louise, I can feel a humming resonance, a steady rhythm that I know belongs to Quentin.

How did we manage before this? How could we stand to be so far apart—to have every door and window closed to us? Hidden and kept away in the dark. It seems impossible now with the bonds opened wide between the four of us: our own world within a world.

I feel a slice of guilt when I think of Frank. If he hadn't been so rotten, if he hadn't been so cruel—I would have begged on bended knee for Louise not to refuse him the one thing that might save him.

Even Louise herself said it isn't too late. There's a chance to change, to be accepted into the pack fully like the others, but she was right to deny him last night whether or not our love is written in the stars.

It's almost as if I can hear Quentin's thoughts along the bond saying,We have a few days at sea—we may see him bonded with the rest of us before we get on that bloody cruise ship.”

Frank only has himself to blame. Even so, I can't help but feel bad.

To live behind the closed bond would be impossible for me now—so I push the thought away.

We've got another stop at a drugstore for some hair dye and cosmetics. Even though I'll hate to see it go, we all agreed that it would be much safer for us traveling if Louise were to get rid of her signature red hair.

So, the first order of business once we get back to the yacht is turning her into a peroxide blond like myself, along with giving her sizable trim.

Quentin and Frank emerge from the uniform emporium, each holding two large brown paper handle bags filled withthings that we'll need to pass as crew members on a massiveMonarch of the Seas.

I turn my key in the ignition as the two of them slide open the van doors and toss their wares into the back.

The mood is decidedly strained. Quentin, with his fresh bonding mark from Seb, peeking from the edge of his hairline at the nape of his neck, the red ring just visible between his collar and his copper brown tresses. Louise’s bite showing in flashes out of the bottom of his short sleeves as he reaches for the window crank—a deep bruised red-purple chain of teeth marks the inside of Q's bicep.

Frank has dark circles smudged beneath his eyes and a more vacant look than usual, and neither of them speaks until we’re pulling out of the parking lot.

“It's going to be better if I stop to get the money myself,” Quentin finally cuts in.

Frank's obviously preoccupied, doesn't even bother with a single syllable answer, only a grunt and a distracted nod of his head.

“You and Caz can drop me off; it's only a few blocks from here. I'll pick up the cash. The two of you go get Sébastien. Either I'll be able to get a ride from my contact from the cash drop point, or I'll take a cab back to the shopping center, then we can all head back to the marina together.” Quentin instructs cooly.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Frank shrugs, sinking down into the back seat like a sulking child.

Quentin only rolls his eyes as we pull away in silence.

There's nothing but the rush of wind through the open windows as we drive the few blocks to Quentin's drop point.

“Here is fine.” He taps the door, and I pull to a stop, letting him out onto the sidewalk.

I feel him glance against the bond—the sweet rose petal, the malted Scotch—and I reach for his hand without thinking, bringing his knuckles to my lips in a gentle kiss.

“Be safe. See you soon,” I murmur under my breath. Quentin nods, and then he's on his way.

“Tch,” Frank clicks his tongue before climbing into the front passenger seat from the back bench of the van.

“All of you are so cozy now. How lovely,” he sneers in a snide saccharin voice.

As an alpha, his jealousy must be tearing him apart right now, but he's made this bed, now he must lie in it.

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