Page 34 of All Saints Day
“It’s been hard on all of you,” he murmurs, tucking the lock of silky copper-brown hair behind my ear.
When I open my eyes, he’s standing over me—his sea-glass eyes searching my face for a sign of how to help me.
So strange. Ever since the bonding with Louise—seeing her memories of Dennis, not just of her heat with him, but of their silent and steadfast dedication to one another in their time as partners in the field—I somehow thought of Dennis as one of our fated mates, but with some unspoken qualifier that he was more Louise’s than the rest of us.
I hadn’t considered until this very second that he might belong to me, Caz, and Seb just as much as Louie—theimmediacy of Dennis standing over me, his fingers ghosting over one of my cheekbones to trace their way down the angle of my jaw, his thumb rounding over my bottom lip as it completes the arc of its trajectory.
I’m not sure how long we stay in this moment—suspended—before the bedroom door squeals on its old hinges, breaking the spell.
Chapter 12
Cazimer
Sébastien helps me into a pair of fresh sweats and a clean white t-shirt, bringing me under his wing like a mother duck so that we can make our way into the living room to talk to Dennis and Q.
“There’s no other choice. We have to do it now—move up the timetable,” I sigh—my whole body is heavy like wet sand and still prickling with the wash of adrenaline.
Sébastien grits his teeth. I know he hates this kind of impulsiveness, but after what we’ve just seen, there’s no arguing we can wait any longer. It’s a smash and grab, or we risk losing her to that madman and the rest of the Windmill.
“You’re right, of course,mon coeur,” he grumbles under his breath as we hobble to the bedroom door together. “But I still don’t have to like it.”
I look at him—somewhat incredulous.
“You still don’t trust Dennis? Even after everything he’s given us on Compton, on the Windmill?”
Sébastien draws up short, the bedroom doorknob just out of my reach.
“Non,” he whispers, his jaw set, dark brows drawn low. “I trusted Francis, Frank—Rook, whoever the fuck that bastard really is,” he snarls, low and venomous. “I won’t make such a mistake again,petit-fantome,” he warns solemnly.
“Sebby,”I croon, my heart breaking for him—for myself, Lou, and Quentin too.
“Plus,” Seb bristles, looking away from me. “I don’t know about you, but I just haven’t…” Seb lifts one of his hands into the air and makes a waffling motion before closing his hand into a decisive fist.
“Ah,” I nod, new understanding blossoming.
“I know that hardly seems important when Loulu’s life hangs in the balance, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t one of the first things that gave me pause.” He squirms slightly.
“Well,” I blush—not sure why I’m so bashful, considering Seb and I share a fated mating bond, his healed bite on my left clavicle. “Mostly I have connected with Dennis through comfort, but,” I turned my eyes to the floor. “Whenever I catch his scent, I can’t help but remember those glimpses of him and Louise in the field…” I trail off, my eyes sliding guiltily to Seb’s face for his reaction.
“Ah yes, the sweet grass, the moon,” he sighs—the two of us lost for a moment in the memory.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I shake off the feeling, leaning into the crook of Seb’s arm. “We’re not doing anything unless Dennis agrees to it. For all we know, he would rather die than be bitten in by us right now.” I do my best not to continue catastrophizing—but it’s hard not to spiral into the abyss after what we just experienced down the mating bond.
Seb turns the doorknob and swings the door open to the intimate scene of Dennis reaching down to run a thumb over Q’s bottom lip.
Seb’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline, and I have to clear my throat to cover the squeal of surprise I’ve had to swallow.
“We are not interrupting anything, I hope,” Sébastien scoffs through his surprise, but Dennis has already pulled away, a furious blush setting his sculpted salt-white cheekbones ablaze.
“Not at all,” Quentin replies breathily—a glazed expression still drawn over his fine features.
There’s a tense moment of silence as Seb and I wobble unsteadily to the sofa, taking a seat beside Quentin—Dennis still pacing anxiously across the sunlit hardwood floor.
“So, it’s settled then?” Quentin turns his chartreuse eyes with their faraway gleam, to mine expectantly.
“Well, I think that really depends on Dennis,” I sigh wearily, my gaze snapping to Dennis—his blue-green eyes fixed on me with a sudden intensity as he draws to an abrupt halt in his pacing track.
“Forgive me for not being able to keep up, being on the outside of the bond and all—but what exactly are we talking about here?” His strawberry-blond brows pinch together.
