Chapter 12

12

BONES

T he metal wire cage door rattles as I open it harder than necessary. I ignore Cinder's pointed stare from where he leans against the cage's wall and head straight to the cabinet where my personal weapons are kept. Stubs is right behind me, a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and focused on the laptop balanced on one hand. Even distracted, he's able to move around the wide metal island in the middle of the cage, setting the laptop down with a quiet clank while simultaneously sliding the empty duffle off. The tech demon tosses the bag with noticeably less care onto the table.

Pressing my thumb to the biometric blood lock--courtesy of the Nightshade Vampires--I try not to grit my teeth at Cinder's clear hovering. It's been hours since Sloan agreed to be fucking bait for Father Xavius. Every single part of me wants to tell Reaper to go fuck himself for putting her in danger.

I have no right to Sloan like that.

I don't know what pisses me off more: that I have no right to Sloan or that I want one and Reaper made it clear I can't.

Actually, what is pissing me off the most right now is the oppressive weight of Cinder's unspoken opinions.

Unlocked, I snap as I wrench open the door. I study my mounted guns and snarl out, "You clearly have something to say so just fucking say it already."

Cinder at least doesn't deny it. "We've got concerns about you and the lady."

"Of course you do," I mutter and reach for a Beretta 92F and pop its magazine out to verify that it's loaded. Grabbing the holster for it, I turn and take the single step to the table where Stubs is setting up a hotel reservation for Sloan and me. I slide the 92F into the leather holster and set it beside the gear bag. I press both hands flat on the metal table, glaring at my vice president.

Cinder's face and neck are brutally scarred from literal Hellfire. I know the burns travel under his Tartarus Taps shirt and Knights of Hades leather vest, all along his side and down his leg. He got them in our rebellion against Prince Tol'vazir as we escaped Hell. Reaper lead us, Blaze having assisted our leader in stealing the Dark Helm from his own father. We all owe Cinder and Reaper our lives. I owe Cinder more, though. He helped keep me sane during the worst times in our old life. When I was forced to break my own bones for Prince Tol'vazir's demands. When I thought the weight of the souls I carry on my back were too heavy, Cinder was there making me get back up. Not for our prince. For myself. To not let the bastard win.

"Is she your mate?"

Shit, he goes right for the throat, doesn't he?

Even Stubs typing goes silent, waiting for my response.

I blow out a harsh breath between my lips before running both hands through my hair. Idly, a part of me notices it's getting long enough to need a cut. I clench the hair at the back of my head before shaking out my hands. I don't answer right away, turning back to the opened weapons cabinet behind me. Muscle memory has me selecting the weapons, inspecting and storing as necessary while I think over his question. Dissatisfied, I have to be honest.

"I don't know," I admit. I turn back to them, mechanically packing my choices. Three handguns, two magazines of specialized bone shard bullets, six regular magazines, and four different knives. Probably overkill, but I'd rather be over armed than be caught without backup. I can't deny that the smallest pistol isn't for me. If Sloan has to use a gun, it needs to be something that won't kick her wrist out of its socket. I steal a glance at Cinder, who seems to be waiting for me. I decide to add more before I look through the drawers of protective gear and tech.

"How did you know Lacy was the one?" I'm genuinely curious. If Cinder can help me make heads or tails of what is going on inside of my head, I'd really fucking appreciate it.

Stubs watches Cinder, his own interest clear.

Cinder contemplates my question, stepping into the weapons cage with us. He crosses his broad arms, the black brewery shirt stretching tight. I don't expect much of an answer, given how little the male talks but he's got to give me something.

"I always wanted her," he says at last. "Since the moment she walked into the Styx that first time. Except I convinced myself she'd never be interested. Then that shit with her ex went down. I realized that her interest didn't matter; regardless, I'd give my life to keep her safe. That's when I started to suspect the mate bond. It's when we first slept together, the bond started to form."

The mate bond. Something all supernatural creatures had the chance of experiencing. Two souls perfectly matched and when found, bonded together for their entire lives. Some even believe the mates transcend lifetimes.

I gave up on a mate bond before we even made it here. A soul as torn and shredded as mine can never bond with another. There simply isn't enough to bond to.

Except. . . Sloan brings something out in me.

I look between Stubs and Cinder. "During the attack, I had every intention of killing Sloan. When I got in range, when I looked in her eyes, I froze. Then her voice was in my head, begging me to kill her. All of a sudden, despite having been about to take her out literal seconds before, the idea of killing her was abhorrent. In fact, all I could think about was protecting her."

"Sounds like that's your answer, then," Stubs declares, as if he's learned a new fact and not something that could upend my life. "I've got your room set up at the Milton hotel. Close enough to where Xavius has been spotted but not enough to be obvious."

I ignore Stubs and hold Cinder's gaze. "I can't be mated. You know this."

Cinder frowns. "Do I?" He gives me a measured look. "I thought I was too damaged for a mate and look at Blaze. I don't think fate gives a fuck about how much of a soul we have. But if Sloan is your mate, you need to be careful."

I give a bitter laugh while nodding, "Yeah, I know. Reaper won't approve."

"Not for the reason you think," Stubs murmurs distractedly, his attention back on whatever he's working on.

"What?" I ask but when he doesn't seem to notice I raise a brow at Cinder, who appears to agree with the tech demon.

"He's right," Cinder confirms. "He sees how you look at her. He's told you to keep your distance because he probably suspects the potential for a bond. But he also knows how dangerous it could be if you two try to bond and you aren't her mate."

Confusion has me asking him to clarify and Cinder sighs before looking at me like I'm an idiot.

"The woman was, essentially, a hostage of a fanatic cult who did their best to ignore her humanity. She wanted out badly enough to attempt killing herself. They physically, verbally, mentally, and emotionally abused her. And she was there for her entire adult life."

Fury builds inside of me as he reminds me of what Father Xavius and his Justicars put Sloan through. Death is too good for them in my opinion. What they did to her reminds me all too much of what Prince Tol'vazir did to me. I was nothing but a powerful tool to him.

"So, yes, it's dangerous if you take her to bed and you're not her mate," Cinder repeats. "Because she needs to do a lot of healing. If you aren't her mate, you risk hurting her even more--" at my growl, he glares at me and talks right over me, "--whether or not you intend to. Her wounds aren't even scars yet. And while you claim to not have enough of a soul left to harm, Reaper and me both know how much it'd damage you if you caused an innocent harm like that. More than her, Reaper is protecting you when he tells you to stay away."

Well, shit. The fight slips out of me fast enough my legs go loose and I step back. I have to brace myself on the drawers behind me under the cabinet as I process Cinder's words.

After starting over here, I wasn't ready for a relationship. None of us were. We fucked and drank and fought, processing the shit from our pasts the only way we could as demons.

Cinder is right. Even with the best intentions, I can't risk Sloan seeing me as another abuser, another person who controls her. It would destroy what little remains of my soul.

Fuck. The idea of treating her like nothing more than a standard client, keeping my walls up and away from her, feels as if my ribs are being split open. Worse, even. And yet, to protect Sloan, I'll endure it. She doesn't need a fucked up demon with his own baggage holding her down in his darkness when her future is meant to be filled with light.

As if understanding I've come to that acceptance, Cinder nods once--his eyes filled with sympathy--and tells Stubs to follow him.

I let my head fall back against the open cabinet with a defeated sigh. I give myself to the count of ten before forcing myself to turn around and decide on what protective gear I want to take.

I can be satisfied watching Sloan from the shadows. I'll learn, if I have to.