Abel (Sabine Valley 1)

He shifts his grip and strokes my wrist with his thumb. The intimate touch nearly sends me to my knees. It’s something he’s done more times than I can count, often when we’re in a room full of people. A subtle possessive code that promises pleasure as soon as we’re alone. Five years is long enough to create an entire language of small touches and significant looks, and I hate that he’s using it on me right now.

“Stop,” I whisper.

The mocking light drains out of his eyes, leaving a man who might be a stranger to me. He’s nearly as cold as Abel is, his hazel eyes hold things I can only begin to guess at. “I’ve changed my mind.”

There’s a tight, wet feeling in my chest. I yank on my arm again. I have to get out of here, because I’ll be damned before I cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. Not anymore. “I don’t care.”

“I recognize that I fucked things up. I was doing what I thought was right at the time.” He drags his thumb over my wrist again. “I understand now that that wasn’t what you needed.”

“Great. Congratulations. Let go.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I love you. None of this changes that truth. And when everything is burned away and there’s nothing left, we’ll be the last ones standing. I promise you that.”

Just like that, I stop trying to get free. “You love me? Then promise me you won’t do anything reckless. Promise me that you’ll be the leader you vowed to be when you took over this faction. Promise me that you won’t do anything to endanger our people.”

“I promise.” He says it so easily, so smoothly, it can’t be anything but a lie. “But you’ll give me a promise in return.”

I already know I won’t like what he’s about to say, but I can’t pretend that I won’t crawl through broken glass for the people in this faction. What can he ask of me compared to the depths I’m already prepared to go to? “What?”

“Promise me that you’ll share my bed while you share his. We’ll switch off every other night.”

I blink. “What?”

“We’re not through. I don’t give a fuck if you’re riding Abel’s cock. That’s your choice, and we both have roles to play as Brides. But you will give me a chance to heal things between us.”

A sound erupts from my lips. I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob, but it makes us both flinch. I yank my hand back and, this time, Eli lets me go. “That’s not how healing works.”

He doesn’t drop his gaze. “It is with us.”

Is this really the worst thing he could ask of me? No, but it certainly feels like it in this moment. I trust Eli with my body, but I no longer trust him with my heart. He’ll shred me every time we touch, will cut right down to my core and leave me bleeding out. I straighten slowly. “Are you sure, Eli? After all, that would put me at sloppy thirds for you.”

“I’m sorry.” His expression doesn’t change. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I turn for the door, but it’s like my feet have grown roots, sinking deep into the floor and holding me captive. I can’t walk out of here without doing everything in my power to keep this faction safe and as stable as possible. I never anticipated that I’d be bargaining my heart in the process.

But then, what worth do my heart and body hold when weighed against so many peoples’ safety?

“You want to bargain? So be it. I’ll share your bed for the duration of this handfasting. Sex is off the table unless I decide otherwise, on a case by case basis. Satisfied?”

“Not yet.” His lips curl into a heart-stopping smile. If only it reached his eyes. “But I will be.”

17

Abel

Old Town is almost exactly the same as it was eight years ago. It’s not surprising, exactly, not when the entire point of Old Town is that is doesn’t change. The shops line a street so narrow, it’s been closed to vehicle traffic since before I was born. They’ve stretched banners from rooftop to rooftop over the street, creating a breezeway of sorts. It keeps the worst of the heat out in the summer and the rain and snow the rest of the time.

I stand at the entrance and inhale slowly. This is the second test of being back. No matter what the other factions think or what happened during Lammas, if the people here don’t fall into line, our return will be short-lived.

We only have one chance.

Cohen stands at my back with Maddox and Iris flanking him. They’re all dressed in black and look forbidding, though Iris is drinking in the sight of the street in a way that tells me she’ll be peppering Finnegan with questions when she gets back to the compound. She’s a white woman with long, dark hair that she’s got pulled back from her face in a low braid. Iris isn’t a Sabine Valley native; we picked her up a few years ago as we were passing through New York. Good girl. Deadly with a knife, and even more so with a shotgun. Like a fucking artist. She’s got one in the scabbard strapped to her back, and despite what should be an awkward position, I’ve seen her draw it faster than some people can draw a handgun.