Page 72 of Forgotten Monsters
“Am I invited to this party?” Flynn croaks behind me.
A hiccup shakes my throat. “You’re awake.” I scurry to his side and squeeze his hand.
He blinks, his lids heavy. “Hey, witch.”
A breath of relief rumbles through my entire body as I brush a blond lock away from his baby-blue eyes. Cole inches closer, his arms crossed.
“Welcome back,” he grunts under his breath like the words are costing him dearly.
Flynn shuffles in his bed, propping his head up with a pillow. “Still grumpy, I see.”
A dark chuckle grates through Cole’s throat. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for me again, and I won’t have to be so grumpy.”
Flynn tilts his chin up from his hospital bed, his gaze lethal. “I will sacrifice myself for youas many times as it takes.”
I’d laugh if it wasn’t for the charged energy in the air. When Flynn gets out of bed, I’m not sure if my men are going to fight or fuck, but I know it’ll be violent either way.
“You two are just going to have to make nice,” I say.
“Yeah—”
“Well—”
“—don’t count on it,” they add in unison.
I grin at the synchronized response. “Why did you guys fall out? Neither of you really explained what happened. Not in a way that would explain your behavior, anyway.”
They both retreat deeper into themselves, and I roll my eyes at their stubbornness.
“Fine. I’ll share my theory first. I think both of you reacted to your grief differently, and instead of growing closer, you took out your emotions on each other until you couldn’t stand to be in the same room together.” I take a dramatic pause, watching their reaction. “How am I doing so far?”
“He called me a worthless drunk,” Flynn says.
Cole turns his back to the bed, running a hand through his curls. “You showed up wasted to an operation and almost got everyone there killed—including you. If that wasn’t the most moronic—”
“Nothing mattered to you anymore besides that damn war…not even me. You posted me as far away from you as you possibly could.”
Cole snickers, the sound dry and unkind. “I didn’t want you to get beheaded between two bottles of gin.”
Flynn props himself up on the bed, holding his weight with his hands. “Ohhh, you did me a favor, did you?”
“Absolutely.”
… At least they’re talking?
“That’s bullsh—” Flynn moves to stand up, but his face pales to a sickly, paper white shade.
“You should rest.” I motion for Cole to leave and help Flynn settle back into the bed.
With a big wince, he curls his fists over the edges of his mattress. “Fuck. That thing really ripped me to shreds.”
The shaman bows quietly as he approaches his patient, his brows pulled together in one thick line. “He needs more sleep, and quiet, or the pain will return. Let me get you a sedative.”
“Just rest for now. I’ll be back soon.”
Flynn motions loosely to my head. “Are we going to talk about your hair?”
“I change color all the time,” I say with a quick, humorous shrug.
