Page 12 of Cherish

Heather looks unimpressed with Flint’s imperiousness. “So, you just do whatever you want?” she asks, shaking her head.

“Yes,” Jaxon answers, sounding bored. Because of course he does. Jaxon is nothing if not succinct when it comes to who he is and what he can do.

If possible, Heather looks even less impressed by Jaxon’s answer. She doesn’t show him that, though. Instead, she moves so he can’t see her and rolls her eyes at me.

I shoot her an I-feel-that expression, because yes, they’re both sounding a little too big for their britches now. But when I turn to share the joke with Hudson, he doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

He’s too busy scrolling through his phone with serious eyes and a definite frown on his face.

“Everything okay?” I ask, laying a hand on his arm.

The familiar zing goes through me as our bodies make contact. It’s enough to distract him, too, to have him glancing away from whatever has him upset to give me that little half grin of his that still makes my heart beat way too fast.

“Absolutely fang-tastic,” he jokes, but I realize the smile I love doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

I want to push a little, but with the others standing here around us, this isn’t exactly the time. Hudson may be more open with me than he’s ever been with anyone, but he prefers an aloofness in front of others—even when those others include his closest friends.

As if to prove my thoughts, Hudson shoves his phone back in his pocket and teases, “Shall we go show Jikan who’s boss? And by boss, I mean you, of course.”

I smile, like he knew I would.

“Actually, I need to see Artelya first. But if you want to head down to the training fields, he’s probably already there,” I suggest.

“Believe me, there’s no hurry,” Jaxon drawls. “We’ll wait for you.”

“So, the God of Time just hangs out at the Gargoyle Court?” Heather asks, sounding completely bewildered. I’m not sure if that’s because she didn’t know the God of Time existed before a few hours ago or because she really has no idea what he would be doing hanging out in Ireland.

To her credit, she’d taken the news that there are gods just walking around in our world with admirable calm back at the diner, asking only a couple of questions before focusing on the fact that witches can build portals to anywhere they’ve already been.

Then again, that’s pretty much Heather to a T.

From the time we were little, she’s always kind of taken a second to think things through and make a plan before heading into a situation with a ton of confidence and even more swagger. Considering my inclination to rush in without thinking at all, Heather’s moments of planning saved us more than a few times growing up.

I can’t help smiling as I think of the way my mom would sit us down and lecture us whenever Heather and I got into some ridiculous scrape or another. She never freaked out, but she definitely spent a lot of time trying to infuse us both with a little more reticence. It never worked, much to her chagrin. Still, my mom was always there to bail us out…until she wasn’t.

A wave of sorrow swamps me as I think about her and the way she used to scold us one minute and give us a cookie the next. I can’t believe it’s been more than a year since my parents died—and more than a year since I started on the journey that brought me here, to Hudson and to my Court.

I’ve learned not to fight it when the sadness hits, so I take a deep breath and let it wash over me. Then let as much leave my body as I can when I exhale. It never eases the pain entirely, but it helps.

“He does on Thursday nights,” I answer Heather after taking another slow breath in and out. “But if you really don’t want to head down without me, you guys can grab something to drink while I check in with my general.”

“Good plan,” Flint says. “I could totally use a snack.”

“We just left a restaurant,” Heather tells him, looking bewildered, since he was the only one who ordered a sandwich with his hot cocoa and still ate all of Eden’s fries.

“So?” he answers, his trademark grin stretching across his face.

Eden leans toward Heather and mock whispers, “An ego that big requires constant feeding.”

“Hey, it takes a lot to keep my dragon in kick-ass condition,” he jokes, waving a hand down his body as we walk toward the lowered portcullis that guards the front door.

“I rest my case,” Eden shoots back.

Flint responds by stretching his neck for a second, then blowing a small stream of fire right at her.

Heather gasps, but Eden just dodges and shoots a stream of ice square at his chest, immediately turning his T-shirt to a hard sheet of uncomfortable-looking frost. “Two can play that game, Montgomery.”

“Ouch,” Flint barks, rubbing at his chest and knocking the ice loose. He looks like he’s about to respond with an ice blast of his own, suspiciously focusing on Eden’s long black hair, but before he can do much more than open his mouth, the portcullis in front of the castle door is raised and six members of my army race outside, swords at the ready.

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