Page 150 of Fated In Forever
I looked around the chamber, taking in the destruction we'd wrought. There would be months of cleanup for Fionaand Brendan, and there was still the rift to worry about, but now that Ravok was gone, even those cosmic problems felt manageable.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, “before this whole place comes down on our heads. Then we wait to see if the universe plans to keep its word.”
“It’s going to fuck us over, I’m telling you,” Blake grumbled.
“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist,” I told him, linking arms with him and Riordan. “I have a feeling this time, everything is going to work out.”
75
EVANGELINE
One month later
The formal dining room at Crimson House had never looked more beautiful, thanks to my sister and Bex.
Candles flickered in ornate candelabras down the length of the mahogany table, warm light cast a soft, warm light over the crystal glasses and fine china, as roses—bright pink, naturally—spilled in colorful drifts from silver vases. The chandeliers overhead sparkled like captured stars and the polished wood paneling gleamed in the ambient light.
All of us had dressed for the occasion—I was in a divine blue cocktail dress that Angel said matched my eyes, and Blake looked ridiculously hot in his black suit, even though he kept tugging at his tie like he was being strangled. Riordan wore his usual tailored suit, his long hair brushing his shoulders—all elegant lines and understated power, wrapped into one delicious package.
Fiona practically glowed in emerald green silk, her red hair pinned up in an elaborate style that showcased the antique earrings she'd inherited from her grandmother. Angel and Bex arrived arm in arm, looking like old Hollywood movie stars, and even Nash was wearing his new uniform, sitting stiffly beside Fiona, inspecting the silverware,like he was trying to figure out what to do with all those forks.
Eldric pulled a chair out for my sister, draped his arm across the back of her chair, whispered something in her ear that made both her and Bex blush. We’d finished three courses so far, expensive champagne was flowing—for everyone but my sister—and the jokes were getting raunchier, along with the trash talking, most of which came from my mate.
Expected, I supposed, with this crowd and I sat back in my chair, warm and fuzzy from the champagne, contented from the company, and just a little bit on edge for what was hopefully coming next.
“I have to say,” Fiona was telling us as Nash refilled her champagne glass, “it's nice to have a celebration that doesn't involve bleeding, explosions, or spontaneous combustion.”
“The night is young,” Blake said with a grin, raising his glass. “But I'll drink to that.”
We had powerful allies now. Aisling had left just yesterday, and I was due to return to Ireland in a week for a roundtable with some of the Old Country leaders, something I was beyond nervous about, but I was finding my footing. Trying to do my part to make Riordan’s dream come true.
We were halfway through the main course—an incredible creation involving duck and cherries that had Angel practically purring—when Nash launched into a story about a flock of ducks, the new Lord of Ebonshade Manor, and a mucky pond of shit that he somehow found himself face down in.
The laughter that followed was the kind that came from people who had been through hell and lived to tell about it. I felt a familiar pang of longing. This was what we’d beenfighting for, after all. What Angel and I had always dreamed of having.
A family, trusted and loved. A life where no one was afraid, or looking over their shoulder.
Nights like this, filled with laughter and peace and joy.
And in a few months, a new addition to our family.
A girl, if Fiona was right, and I suspected she was.
But I kept glancing at the empty chair beside me—the one I couldn’t stop looking at, suspense building through our second course, through dessert and coffee, and after dinner drinks. but dinner was over, the candles were burning low, and time had run out.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the table, something like fear filling me with a weighty sense of dread. What if the universe had decided not to grant my wish after all? What if I’d worded my wish poorly, or left a glaring loophole, or asked for too much?
Riordan reached out and cover my hand with his own, then raised his glass. “To the best family I could ever ask for,” he said simply. “The kind you choose, and the kind that chooses you back.”
“To family,” we all echoed, and the crystal sang as our glasses met. But I couldn’t stop the tears burning in my eyes, my throat from tightening up. I’d put so muchhopeinto these past few weeks, put so much into wishing our family was whole, that disappointment was breaking my heart.
“It will be okay, Evie,” Rohr murmured. “You’ll see.”
I was about to tell him it wouldn’t be okay, when the air in the center of the room began to shimmer.
The barest ripple, like heat rising from hot, summer pavement. Then the shimmer intensified, reality bending and twisting until a tear appeared in the fabric of the world itself. Through it, I caught a glimpse of obsidian stone andendless sand, shadows, broken only by flashes of red. Then Malachi tumbled through the portal and landed in a crouch on the antique Persian rug, fangs bared.
He was exactly as I remembered, spiked horns forged into a crown, long tail lashing as he sprang to his feet, blinking like someone who’d just been yanked from one realm into another, head whipping around, to find he had an audience.
