Page 119 of The Wild Charge

“I’m afraid you’re going to wear a track in the carpet,” Alec said, tone only half-joking.

Ian had finally gathered himself together when his people arrived: a team of eight from his New York office, suitably strong and capable and calm. Their captain, Vince, had conferred with Bruce and set his men at posts in the parking lot, lobby, and the hall. Ian had spoken with the concierge, and then the hotel manager, who apologized profusely, offered to comp their rooms, move them to new ones, and bowed in deference to Ian’s statement that he would be calling in added private security.

He sat on the end of the king-sized bed of their new two-bedroom suite beside Alec, Cassandra between them. He had a gin and tonic in his hand, and all-in-all felt much calmer than he had a few hours ago. Felt nearly himself, actually – was beginning to dream up ways of harming the people who’d left him so frightened and shaken. Shaman didn’tdofrightened and shaken, not anymore. Fuck them for trying.

But as he’d smoothed his hair and taken a seat, Raven had taken up his role pacing the room, back and forth, back and forth across the patterned carpet, hands on her hips, stiletto heels striking out sharply with every step.

Ian took another sip of G&T. “Raven, darling, sit down and have a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she snapped. “I want to throttle someone.” She paused, facing the window; its parted curtains offered a dazzling view of the lamplit park, paths winding beneath leafy trees. She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush, reached to massage the skin between her brows with a fingertip. “We should never have come.”

Cassandra sniffled, and Alec put an arm around her slender shoulders.

“It’ll be alright,” Ian said, soothingly, though he’d been in the same furious and panicked state only an hour ago. “I’m going to fix it.”

“You?” She cast a glance over her shoulder, brows arched in an expression reminiscent of Charlie. “This isn’t your mess to fix. My brothers and their godforsaken Dogs dragged everyone into this, you and me included.Theyneed to fix it.” The last was said viciously, eyes flashing.

“They do like to meddle, our Dogs,” he conceded.

She shook her head and turned away, reflection ghostly in the window glass. Her tone shifted to one of cold bitterness. “They’re your Dogs by choice. They’re mine by blood – and I never chose them, nor all the trouble they bring.”

Cassandra made a shocked sound. “They’re our brothers.”

“Yes, and a fat lot of good they’ve done us.”

“Raven,” Alec said, gently, “I know you’re upset…”

“Oh, I’m far past upset. I passed upset last year when Dad nearly got us all killed over his secret government bollocks. I’ve moved onto resentment and wishing I’d taken that job in Tokyo when I was eighteen so I never had to deal with any of this ever again.”

Cassandra sat up straight between them, hands fisting the bedspread. “You don’t mean that.”

“I would have come back for you, darling.” Eden’s voice raised the fine hairs on Ian’s arms, the coldness of it, the detachment. The voice of someone who’d reached her limit. “But the boys can fucking rot for all I care.”

A quick glance proved that Cassandra’s eyes had gone shiny with fresh tears; she’d cried so much tonight that her whole face was puffy and shiny with dried tear tracks.

Ian went to the minibar, fixed a second G&T, and went to hand it to Raven. She regarded the glass a long moment before she finally took it, then Ian hooked two fingers at her elbow and towed her from the window. She huffed an annoyed breath, but followed along easily enough. As they moved through the marble and gold bathroom that connected the two bedrooms, he heard Alec murmuring quiet reassurances to Cassandra.

Raven pulled away from him, once he’d closed the door, and walked to this room’s window to take up the same stance: standing straight-backed, one arm banded across her middle, other hand clenched tight on her tumbler, staring again out at the benighted park.

Ian walked toward her slowly, careful to keep a bit of distance between them as he joined her. She was not, he knew, the sort of person who would collapse into an offered embrace and cry into his shirtfront – for which he was grateful. He wasn’t equipped to handle that sort of thing.

Nor was he any good at offering advice or comfort, but he supposed he would try. “When I last spoke to Ghost, he said that Charlie was coming.”

She snorted inelegantly and took a long sip of her drink. “Ooh, yes, because he’ll make everything better.”

“He’s bringing Tennyson. And Reese.”

“Those psychos. Even better.”

He turned to look at her, and saw the glimmer of a single tear rolling down her cheek. She dashed it away with a furious gesture…but another replaced it.

Silently, Ian drew the clean handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

She blinked at it, startled, and when she took it, she let out a shaky breath, and the anger bled out of her face. She dabbed at her cheeks and shook her head.

Ian waited.

She gathered herself for a few minutes, spine curling, shoulders drooping. She was a tall woman, but she looked small, then; he was reminded of their height difference when, normally, she seemed on equal footing, with her posture and her heels and her aura of graceful command. “I love my brothers,” she said in a watery voice. “Every single stupid one of them.”

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