Page 46 of The Hive Queen

“They may surprise you.” He hugs me tighter. “A lot changed with Darius’s death.”

That’s an understatement. For everything good that came from Darius’s sacrifice, an equal level of bad came with it.

“Everything will work out.” Sharpe leans in, cupping the back of my neck, leaning in.

Pain shoots down my spine, and I flinch back.

Sharpe instantly releases me, then moves to stand behind me and sweeps my hair to the side.

He sucks in a harsh breath and prods at where the bee stung me, making me wince. “Okay, we’re going to the doctor. This is infected.”

“I’m an immortal being,” I protest. “Bee stings are nothing.”

“Immortal being or not, you need to get this drained and get on some antibiotics.” He nudges me toward the open car door. “No more fussing. We’re going to have it looked at. You can call Flint on the way.”

I slide into the passenger seat. “You’re bossy.”

“That’s what my title says.” He leans in to give me a quick, hard kiss before he shuts the door.

As he jogs around the front, I reach up to touch the back of my neck, where my skin feels swollen, tender, and feverish.

I’ve been wounded in innumerable battles and died a hundred times, but I can’t remember the last time I was sick.

home, but not home

- Marc -

“Thankyou for flying with us, Mr. O’Neill.” The flight attendant hands me my duffel bag. “It was a pleasure, as always.”

“Thanks for a safe ride back.” I sling the bag over my shoulder. “You’ll receive a bonus for being so flexible with your time.”

That receives a bow and another heartfelt farewell as I head down the stairs rolled up to the side of the small jet. A brisk breeze sweeps past me, tugging at the hem of my t-shirt.

Despite the chill in the air, my fire magic keeps me warm. The amulet under my shirt acts as a hot spot that would become bothersome in the summer if I didn’t enjoy the heat so much.

Air on this side of the mountain smells fresher, and I take a deep breath, letting the scent of home sink in.

When I flew out, I left my black sports car at the small airport, and it waits near the hangar, the engine running and the trunk open.

I toss my duffel bag inside and close the lid before sliding behind the wheel.

The supple leather-seats mold around my body, warm and welcoming. A bottle of water sits cooling in the climate-controlled cup holder, and classical music drifts softly from the surround-sound speakers.

Darius had loved this car. We fought over it for weeks before I finally gave in to his demand to purchase it. The truck we’d been using had worked just fine, but the man loved his luxury.

I stroke a finger over the wood grain of the steering wheel, admiring the rich swirls of real wood, and the constant ache in my chest spreads.

A dozen times, I’ve considered getting rid of the car, but every time I drive it toward a dealer, I end up turning back. The same stands for the high-end clothes packed into boxes in my room. I emptied his items out of my closet, but I can’t bear to take them to a donation center.

A laugh escapes me. Gods, if Darius knew I was considering donating his carefully curated wardrobe, he’d kill me.

The laugh turns bitter, and tears sting my eyes.

Dammit, I need to move on.

I reach out to flip the air to cold and the music to the oldies station.

A song blares through the car, chaotic and loud in direct defiance of the classic tunes. I remember when the band first became popular two decades ago.

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