6. Two Options

CHAPTER 6

Two Options

R yker was exhausted. He'd thought the Choosing had been draining, but the marriage competition had nothing on the past day.

He had taken no pleasure in telling Brynleigh about Emery Sylvain's death, nor did he enjoy watching her reaction. Seeing her be sick had twisted his stomach in the worst of ways.

"It's not going to be easy," he warned, meeting her gaze.

Whenever he looked at her, he imagined her in Emery's place. It was her broken body on the ice. Gray. Staked. Lifeless.

It made him want to burn the world.

"Nothing ever is," she said.

Ryker grabbed the small black box he'd placed on the coffee table earlier, forcing himself to remain calm and in control. He couldn't think about the fact that Brynleigh had wanted to kill him because he had to keep a level head.

He needed her to accept this deal he'd made Myrrah Challard, the Witch Representative of the Northern Region. He'd gambled on the fact that Myrrah's desire for information and actual leads into the Black Night would be strong enough to get Brynleigh out of the prison.

After all, the rebels had nearly wiped out Myrrah's coven two centuries ago. She'd been a witchling then, not even Mature, but after most of her coven died, she rose to power.

By the time Ryker was born, she was a Representative. Five years ago, she'd been appointed as Head Witch over the seven covens that called the Republic of Balance their home.

Myrrah had spent considerable time and resources tracking the rebels, but they were slippery and kept evading her.

Ryker drew in a deep breath.

"The Black Night is a rebel organization that has been terrorizing the Republic of Balance for centuries." He spoke calmly as if he was talking to an informant. "Until recently, their actions have remained out of the public eye."

Brynleigh rubbed her neck, and he stared at the column of her throat. He could still remember his horror as the silver shrapnel had torn through Brynleigh's neck during the Masked Ball.

Unbidden, a vision of her bleeding out flashed through Ryker's eyes, but he banished it. There was no room for thoughts like that right now. No room for emotions.

He was stone. Cold. Lifeless. Strong.

She said, "But not anymore."

"No, it seems they've abandoned their secretive agenda and have decided to work out in the open."

After the attack on the Two Hundredth Choosing, everyone knew there were rebels within the Republic. There was no more hiding their existence.

"What does this have to do with me?" she asked.

Straight to the point. That was something he'd always enjoyed about her. Now, it was just another reminder of the way things had changed.

He cleared his throat. "As I said before, Emery Sylvain had ties to the Black Night. So does his Bound Partner."

Brynleigh winced, but he ignored it. He had to get this over with. This was nothing but a fucking mission.

After all, that was only fair. She was the one who'd treated their relationship like a job first—one where he forfeited his life at the end—so this course of action seemed fitting.

"If Jelisette is a member of the Black Night?—"

"She is," Ryker growled. "The intel is clear. We have an overwhelming amount of evidence confirming it."

They didn't know much about the rebels, but once they'd discovered her link to Emery Sylvain, it had been easy enough to connect the rest of the dots.

Brynleigh tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Then why not just arrest Jelisette?"

"It's not that simple." He gritted his teeth, and his voice was sharp when he continued, "There are laws in the Republic, although I'm not sure you fucking realize that."

The moment he spoke, the air thickened.

She balled her fists and snapped, "I know laws exist."

"Do you?" His chest heaved as some of the anger he'd been tamping down bubbled up. "Because I'm not so sure."

Glaring at him, she rubbed her wrists. "I'm not an idiot."

"No, just a killer." The last word ripped out of him in a vicious snarl.

She recoiled.

"Fine. Yes! I'm a fucking killer." Her eyes blazed with fury. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"No!" Of course, it wasn't what he wanted. "I want the wife I Chose."

But apparently, that wasn't going to happen, and now he was stuck in this deal of his own making.

Several minutes passed in terse silence, the walls seeming to fold in on them, as Ryker wrangled his anger back under control. It was more difficult than ever.

"Listen, Jelisette isn't in prison because she hasn't been caught breaking laws," he said. "There's nothing directly tying her to the attacks, and we can't just throw her behind bars for no reason."

If they could, it would make things a lot easier.

Ryker furled and unfurled his fists. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. This wasn't the time for hunger.

"We can argue about this for days, but it doesn't change the fucking facts."

Long moments passed .

When Brynleigh's eyes rose once again, they lacked some of the life that used to be in them.

He'd done that. Maybe not on purpose, but he'd let them take her. He hadn't fought for her, hadn't looked for her.

This situation was her fault… but it was also his.

By the Obsidian Sands, their situation was so gods-damned complicated.

"What do you need from me?"

She sounded resigned, as if she knew there was only one way this could go.

She was right. Either she agreed to these terms, or Ryker would have to return her to prison.

Not The Pit—never the fucking Pit again, not while he still drew breath into his lungs and his heart still beat, especially now that he realized she wasn't involved with the rebels—but his influence could only go so far.

He couldn't fathom the thought of her languishing in any cell, though. Even after everything that happened, he didn't want to see her in pain.

See? Gods-damned complicated.

Maybe one day, after Ryker's mother passed the mantle of Representative onto him, he'd have more power, but right now, he'd used every ounce of influence he had to accomplish this.

Doing his job had never been so difficult.

"You need to return to Jelisette and work for her while you uncover information about the rebels," he said simply. "We need tangible proof of her involvement in the Black Night, and you're in the perfect position to obtain it."

She didn't say anything. She just stared at him.

The weight of Brynleigh's gaze was heavy, and he swallowed before continuing, "The Black Night doesn't use regular technology to communicate. That's why it's been so gods-damned hard to get a read on them. But they must be using something. Coded letters, books, word of mouth, spies, something . You're our best shot."

Their only shot, really .

The grandfather clock ticked away, echoing the pounding of his heart as he waited for her response.

Each second felt longer than the last. He forced himself to maintain an impassive look, although, on the inside, he was begging her to accept the deal.

He couldn't take her back.

And then, after a lifetime that was probably only a few minutes went by, Brynleigh laughed .

It was just a chuckle at first, a raspy sound, as if her body had forgotten how to make that particular noise, but it kept going. It grew louder until her mirth boomed around the house. She bent in half, gripping the edges of the chair as she wheezed.

There was no humor in the sound. It was cold and lifeless, and the hairs on his arms rose.

Fuck, maybe her mind had broken. It wouldn't be the first time Victor Orpheus had shattered someone.

Something deep within Ryker twisted at the thought.

Before he could do something fucking idiotic, like reach out and touch her, Ryker tightened his grip on the black box. Thankful for something to hold, he forced his blank mask to remain in place.

"Care to fill me in on what's so amusing?" He kept his voice low and calm, the same one he'd use for a random informant and not his potentially broken wife.

A choked half-laugh, half-gasp came from Brynleigh and she slowly dragged her eyes to his.

"She'll kill me."

Another laugh. This one was encased in ice, and it sent chills crawling down his spine. Or maybe it was her words.

"You don't know that," he said carefully.

"Oh, I do." She chuckled darkly, and a few shadows slipped from her palms. "This is your grand scheme? You couldn't kill me, so you decided to get my Maker to do it?"

Now, it was Ryker's turn to wince. He hated hearing her talk about dying. "She won't kill you."

But the words sounded weak, even to his ears.

Brynleigh stared at him in utter disbelief. "Putting aside the ridiculous assumption that Jelisette wouldn't kill me—because she would—what's your plan?"

Shadows flickered through her eyes, and she laughed again.

"Am I supposed to waltz in there and say, ‘Hey, Jelisette, long time, no see. Where have I been? Oh, I've just been in a fucking dungeon, getting tortured because you sent Zanri to kill my new husband, and he was understandably pissed, but I'm out now, and we're all good. Anyways, got any work for me?'" Brynleigh raised a brow. "How do you fucking think that will work out for me?"

Anger flashed through her eyes as if she was furious at him . As if he was the one ruining everything.

That was absolutely ridiculous. Ryker was trying to help Brynleigh, and she was the one who'd destroyed everything they'd built.

Another crack appeared in his mask, and his nostrils flared. He clenched his jaw, and his fists furled.

"You'll have to figure it out," he ground out. "There must be something you can say that will keep Jelisette from killing you."

Another long moment, another laugh.

He didn't respond.

What did she think would happen when she concocted her plan? Did she honestly think she could just murder the son of a Representative and get away with it?

Eventually, the laughter died off, and she blinked.

"Fuck me, you're serious." Brynleigh shook her head, her eyes wide in disbelief. "This is… you want me to double cross my Maker?"

She had to. There was no other way he could help her.

"Yes."

Brynleigh opened and closed her mouth repeatedly.

Worse. He felt worse than before. How was that possible?

"This is… You should've just killed me yesterday," she whispered. "That would've been kinder than this."

Kind.

As if she understood the meaning of the word.

He was being kind. He'd gotten her out of prison, for the gods' sake.

Had it only been a day since he first saw her? It felt like an entire lifetime had passed. Their wedding seemed like eons ago .

All of a sudden, Ryker was done with this.

He needed space. He had to put some room between him and Brynleigh, with her sad eyes, broken laugh, and golden hair that called to him even now.

She'd betrayed him and planned on killing him, but his body didn't seem to care. He wanted her as much as he had the first time he saw her.

His heart urged him to put aside his anger and consider her reasons, but that organ was a fool, and he wasn't ready to listen to it.

With a flick of his finger, Ryker opened the small box.

A topaz bracelet sat on a bed of inky velvet, and a single silver teardrop hung from it. He took the jewelry out carefully, undoing the clasp.

"Give me your wrist."

She didn't move. Of course not. Nothing would be easy between them anymore. He was beginning to see that.

She asked, "Why?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ryker sighed loudly. His mask of calmness was well and truly gone.

"So, I can put this tracker on you." He held it up. "It's been a long twenty-four hours, and I need more coffee."

What he actually needed was to turn back time to before this happened, but since that wasn't possible, caffeine came in a close second.

"We can go over the logistics of the plan tonight. You need to sleep and have more blood before we leave," he said.

He could tell she wasn't back to full strength yet, and they wouldn't go anywhere until she was better. Because she was his asset. He had to ensure she was healthy enough to accomplish the task at hand.

That was it.

Brynleigh's eyes hardened. "Aren't you missing a step?"

His brows knit together. "No."

He'd thought it all through. This was the only way.

"Yes, you are." She glared daggers at him. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man a hundred times over. "I haven't agreed to this asinine suicide mission."

"Do you want to go back to prison?" he snapped.

He hadn't intended for his voice to be so sharp, but he was just so gods-damned done. He used to have the patience of a saint, but that seemed to have vanished on their disastrous wedding night.

"Obviously fucking not." Her gaze was deadly. "They tortured me, Ryker." She rolled up her sleeves, showing him the still-pink flesh of her wrists. "I'd rather die than return to that hellhole."

"Then we are in agreement," he snarled.

His magic was a storm as he struggled to remain in control. He'd never been so close to losing his grip on his power as he was in that moment.

"There are only two options. Two paths you can take. That's it. This is your doing. It's called a fucking consequence. Deal with it."

Fire flashed through her eyes. "I'm not a child. I know what consequences are."

She snarled.

"Good. Then make up your mind. Will it be prison, or will you help find out what the fuck Jelisette is doing with the Black Night? This is it. I have nothing else. There isn't another option, nor do you have anyone else you can deceive and betray." Ryker knew he was all she had, and gods help him if that didn't make him feel horrible. "Decide."

Everything between them always came down to choices. It was a fucking cosmic joke.

After what felt like a lifetime, she held out her wrist, and snapped.

"Fine, I'll do it."

Thank all the gods. Neither choice was good, but this was the better path.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Ryker slid the bracelet onto her wrist. He was careful not to touch her skin as he shut the clasp.

Blue sparks rose, the air crackled, and the bracelet fused together.

An accusatory glare that would've killed a lesser man crossed her face.

"What the fuck was that?"

"The bracelet is enchanted," he informed her. "You can't take it off. No matter where you go in the Republic of Balance, I'll be able to find you. This is not up for debate. It was part of the deal I made for you."

Myrrah had insisted upon it. To say that Brynleigh was a flight risk was a damned understatement.

"I see." Somehow, her voice was even harder than before. "Are we done here?"

She looked at him like she hated him, like she wasn't the one who had tried to kill him, and his insides twisted into knots.

Ryker still couldn't believe this was happening, still couldn't believe this was their life.

So much for fucking happily ever after. How could he have ever thought they'd get a fairy tale ending to their story? He'd been a fool.

Happy endings were for people whose relationships weren't built on a foundation of murder, lies, and deception.

Drained by this entire conversation, he raked his hands through his hair and sighed.

"Yes. We're done."

Everything else could wait.

"Thank Isvana." She rose to her feet, a tremor still present in her legs.

Ryker forced himself not to notice the shaking in her hands, the paleness of her skin, or the bruises that still bloomed on her flesh.

He remained seated as she made her way to the bedroom, waiting until he heard the shower running before rising to his feet.

This entire situation was a gods-damned disaster.

As luck would have it—and to be clear, he was not feeling lucky at all—things rapidly deteriorated from there.

While Brynleigh showered, he put a few bags of blood in the bedroom for her, along with her suitcase. He wasn't a monster, no matter what she believed. Then he grabbed some food, made another coffee, sat at the kitchen table, and pulled out his phone.

It had been vibrating nearly non-stop since early this morning.

Sighing, he unlocked the device and stared at the notifications. He had two dozen unread emails. He tapped on the first one, the subject line simply titled Urgent .

Captain Waterborn,

What is this I hear about Brynleigh Waterborn, formally Brynleigh de la Point, being removed from The Pit? The vampire has proven ties to the Black Night.

Under whose authority were you acting?

An immediate response is required.

- General Killian

Ryker typed out a quick reply reiterating that he was acting under orders from the Head Witch and to direct any concerns to her.

He closed the email, only to realize that each message in his inbox was a variation of the first. A low throb came to life in his temples, and he rubbed his forehead.

An hour later, he finished answering each message. He had started copying and pasting his replies halfway through, but by then, it was too late. The throb had turned into a pulsing ache.

Brynleigh had yet to emerge from the bedroom.

Needing to stretch his legs, he tucked his phone in his back pocket and strode over to her door.

A frown tugged at his lips, and he pressed his ear against the wood.

The room was completely silent.

His frown deepened as he knocked and called her name.

Still no response.

She wouldn't have been so stupid as to try and escape, right? Not after he'd just freed her from prison. Although maybe she did. After all, it wasn't like he truly knew her.

A thousand curses ran through his mind as he twisted the handle, opening the door. A growl rose in his throat, but he tamped it down as he took in the scene before him.

The room was washed in darkness. Curtains covered the window. The carpet was black. The wastebasket by the door was filled with empty bags that had once contained blood. Shadows snaked around Brynleigh's hands and feet.

She was naked and stretched out on the bed, her body covered by the same thin quilt. Her right arm reached above her head like she was trying to grab something. Hair flowed down the side of the mattress, and her eyes were shut as she slumbered.

A whimper escaped her, and she rolled onto her stomach.

Ryker clenched his fists, and though this felt like an extreme violation of her privacy, he couldn't make himself move. Anger held him in place.

Half of him wanted to throttle her, to kill her for wanting to kill him, and yet, the other half was drawn to her. He wanted to brush her hair away from her cheek, to check on her bruises and ensure they were disappearing. He wanted to be with her. Hold her and kiss her and love her like he had before their world imploded.

Right now, she didn't look like a monster. She didn't even look dangerous. If anything, she looked like she was his.

Except, she wasn't fucking his. She'd never been his.

He rubbed a fist over his aching heart. She'd lied and intended to kill him, and like a fucking fool, he'd fallen in love with her.

The headache worsened.

Space.

He needed more gods-damned space.

He slipped the door shut just as his phone started vibrating.

Groaning, Ryker fished the troublesome piece of technology from his pocket. His sister's name flashed across the screen. He quickly unlocked the phone, his stomach plummeting as he read the message.

River

Heads up, Mom's on a rampage.

He had no time to react. Less than thirty seconds later, the phone buzzed continuously. Representative Waterborn—Mom appeared in flashing letters.

"Fucking hell," Ryker breathed.

Couldn't he get a moment's reprieve?

Palming the back of his neck, as if that could help him with the shit storm he was certain was about to be unleashed on him, he moved to the other end of the house. It wasn't like he could go far in this bungalow, but he would at least attempt to find some privacy.

He'd successfully dodged his mother's calls for the past three weeks, but now…

If he didn't answer, she might do something incredibly stupid and insane, like show up here. That was the last thing he needed.

As Ryker often had over the past month, he wished he was anywhere else in the world but here. Alas, wishes, just like fairy tale endings, were for other people.

Dropping into a chair at the kitchen table, he slid his thumb across the screen, accepting the video call. He propped the phone against an empty fruit bowl and waited for the call to connect. He couldn't even claim spotty signal issues—the Central Region had some of the best technology in the entire Republic, and the signal was perfect, even in the woods.

As soon as the call connected, Ryker winced. He looked even worse than he thought. His hair was disheveled, dark bags hung under his eyes, and his shirt was wrinkled from being slept in.

He wouldn't usually be concerned about his appearance, not after everything he'd endured since his wedding night, but he knew his mother. She would take personal offense to how he looked, as if his lack of care reflected on her.

It didn't matter that no one else was around. It would still bother her.

Sure enough, a scowl marred her features. Internally, Ryker sighed. Not externally. Nothing to set her off.

As usual, Tertia Waterborn was perfectly put together. She looked like she had stepped out of the page of a magazine.

The Representative of the Fae sat at the large mahogany desk in her home study. Brown hair was coiffed and styled away from her face. Diamond studs adorned her delicate, pointed ears. Her black silk blouse shimmered in the light, and her chin rested on a manicured hand as she stared into the camera.

Despite the distance between them, Ryker could have sworn the temperature dropped in the room at his mother's obvious disapproval.

"Ryker Elias Waterborn," Tertia said in a cold, quiet voice that he had to strain to hear. "You have Chosen poorly, and your actions have dishonored the illustrious Waterborn name. I am incredibly disappointed in you."

Apparently, they were skipping hellos and going straight to admonishment.

How delightful.

Ryker had known his mother would call sooner or later. There wasn't much one could keep from her, but why today? Why now?

The gods hated him. That was the only plausible explanation.

"Hello, Mother," he said calmly. "It's so nice to see you, too."

Perhaps if he was kind and well-mannered, she would leave him alone. He certainly had enough to deal with without bringing his mother into the mix.

Tertia's eyes glinted as she leaned forward. She tapped her manicured nails on the desk, the sound crystal clear.

Tap, tap, tap .

On and on the solo drumbeat went as her eyes drilled into him.

Ryker knew better than to speak before his mother. He'd learned manners when most children were learning their primary colors.

Long, drawn-out minutes passed before Tertia deigned to speak again. Every breath was an entire percussion section in Ryker's ears.

"This afternoon, I was at the Crystal Garden having lunch with Representative Havill." She raised a brow. "It was important, Ryker."

Everything Tertia did was important, at least from her perspective.

Ryker didn't respond. She hadn't given him leave yet.

"I had just ordered my salad when suddenly, I received the most disturbing phone call." Her words were clipped, and the drumming ceased. "Do you know what I was told?"

He wished he didn't, but he could guess. It seemed his time of avoiding his family and the press was coming to an end.

Sighing, he kneaded his temples. "Mother, I can explain?—"

"You will not," she snapped. "Not over the phone."

Tertia's voice remained at the same decibel, but it felt like she was screaming at him. Each word was an ice pick in his ear.

He didn't have the energy to fight with her. Not now, after the day he'd had. His head throbbed, and he groaned, waiting for his mother to continue .

"I warned you, Ryker," she said icily.

As if Ryker could forget his mother's "warning." She'd gone after Brynleigh and decided that since the vampire had no lineage, proper education, or finances, Ryker had Chosen poorly. Ryker had defended his then-fiance, but now…

Now, it turned out the truth was so much worse than that.

"I know," he replied tersely.

His mother scoffed, and her voice chilled impossibly further. "I told you the bloodsucker wasn't the right match for you. I warned you this would happen. But you did not heed my warning and married her anyway."

The wedding band on Ryker's left hand was heavy, emphasizing his mother's point.

"You made a foolish Choice, and it will have far more repercussions than you know," Tertia admonished.

Ryker narrowed his eyes.

Was she threatening him?

Hot anger churned and bubbled like lava in his veins. He was a Mature fae, and his position should afford him at least a modicum of respect.

Unfortunately for him, his mother seemed hell-bent on making his day even worse.

"Do you know what I hate more than vampires who don't know their places?" Her searing gaze was one of intense displeasure, and he fought the urge to squirm. " Surprises ."

A stone lodged itself in his stomach. Never mind that he was well into his third decade of life. His mother was scolding him like he was a misbehaving child.

He knew exactly how this would go.

Tertia would go on and on and on about how Waterborns were supposed to be perfect. They weren't allowed to have problems. They weren't allowed to disrupt the natural way of life in the Republic of Balance.

Waterborns weren't allowed to fucking live .

Ryker balled his fist, careful to keep it out of sight of the camera. "Mother, I would have told you?—"

"I do not recall granting you permission to speak," she snapped.

Cursing inwardly, he slammed his mouth shut. As much as he wanted to end the call, doing so abruptly would be worse.

The last thing he needed was to see Tertia face to face. Not now. Possibly not ever.

His head pounded, and he glanced longingly at the kitchen. A bottle of amber liquor sat above the cabinets, calling his name.

"I do not enjoy being kept out of the loop, my son," Tertia spoke quietly, each word calculated and as sharp as the icicles she wielded.

He understood where she was coming from, but keeping his mother up to date in the middle of all the craziness that had been the last three weeks of his life was very low on his list of priorities, so he didn't really have many other options.

Tertia wasn't finished.

"Nor do I enjoy being delivered news like a commoner in the middle of my lunch. I had to hear about this from Connie Evander, of all people." She scoffed. "Do you know how much joy that spineless Light Elf will take in knowing something before me? She was born Without, Ryker. Without !"

The way Tertia said the word, it was as though being born lacking magic was the worst thing in the entire world. It wasn't Connie's fault she was born that way.

Most beings—not humans, of course—in the Republic of Balance were born with magic coursing through their veins, but every so often, some people were born Without the blessings of the gods.

Tertia's voice raised a notch. "Connie has always been jealous that her husband isn't part of the Inner Council of Representatives, and now, she'll lord this over me for the next century. By the Black Sands, the woman will be more insufferable than she already is."

Ryker barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. That's all life was to his mother. Social games, gossiping, and politics.

Meanwhile, Ryker had real problems, like a murderous wife.

The Representative was still scolding him.

Ryker listened with half an ear as Tertia told him he should have informed her of what happened earlier, how he was a disappointment, how he needed to shape up if he ever wanted to bear the mantle of Representative in the future.

These were all things he'd heard before.

A half-hour passed, during which Ryker said maybe three sentences. He was ready to throw his phone out of the window when a floorboard creaked. He looked up, and a pair of onyx eyes met his from across the room.

How long had Brynleigh been standing there?

"I have to go, Mother." He flicked his gaze back to the phone. "I'm sorry. I'll message you."

She screeched, "Ryker, don't you hang up?—"

He ended the call, flung the phone face down on the table, and dropped his head into his hands.