And just like Bronywyn suggested, we take it one day at a time. One fight at a time. Until we can finally lay our weapons down for good.
“Be careful out there.” Delaney’s mate steps forward and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Call if you need anything. Avoid any and all dark fae that might be lurking about.” I don’t miss her pointed look at Bronywyn, though she’s far too occupied with something on her cell to notice.
“You guys do the same,” I offer.
Rachel glances up from a game ofCatan.“I’ll have my bag ready to go if anything happens. I still wish you’d let me come. I can help.”
“You also can’t be glamoured,” Bronywyn replies as she shoves her phone back into her pocket. “And with the supernaturals hunting humans now, we can’t risk it.”
“I can be,” Walker says from the couch. He’s still laid up, though the past few days have brought more color to his complexion.
“You aren’t even close to being ready for a fight,” Rachel scolds. “You need at least another three weeks to fully heal.”
Walker purses his lips together and grabs the dice, completely ignoring her. “My turn.”
“Sorry, partner,” Rainey offers. “Soon, you’ll be back to kicking ass.”
“Yeah, it’s just too damn bad I don’t have any handy healing abilities like you do.”
“We can’t all be awesome.” She winks, and Walker grins. The first smile he’s shown in a while. Not that I blame him; I couldn’t imagine being laid up for weeks at a time. Shit, the one day I was trapped in bed when Bronywyn’s and my bond was stretched to the max was difficult enough.
But since vampire blood won’t work on him, and he has the same healing abilities as a human, there’s not much choice. Not until he’s healed enough that Rachel gives him the all-clear.
“Another fun night on the town.” Rainey grabs a sweatshirt from the back of the couch and tugs it on. She barely manages to tug it down to her midsection, and Fearghas stifles a laugh. She grabs her holster and hooks it on, then glares at him. “I will shoot you.”
He throws up both hands. “Look, I only have so many ideas for disguises, and we can’t use the same ones each time.”
“Next time, make me an old woman.”
“Deal.”
“Be careful,” Delaney says, again. She doesn’t look even the least bit amused anymore, and I know it’s because she’s feeling helpless. But pregnancy aside, it’s her turn to watch the house.
“We always are.”
“Unless you’re chasing after a succubus queen,” Bronywyn reminds Rainey. The hunter glares in her direction, but Bronywyn shrugs it off. She’s just reaching for the door handle when she stiffens, freezing in place. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“What is it?”
She doesn’t answer me, just reaches forward and rips the door open to reveal Clarance standing on the other side, wearing dark jeans and a black sweatshirt.
His fist is raised, mid-knock, and he stares at Bronywyn a moment, gaze narrowing. “Bronywyn?”
“You can see past the glamour?”
He shakes his head. “I can sense your magic.”
She glances back at Fearghas, who puts both hands in the air. “I can only change your physical appearance.”
“No one is going to notice it’s you unless they are looking,” her father adds, “and has your specific magical signature memorized.”
As it did the last time he was here, her anguish floods the bond between us. Pain, guilt, anger—all three emotions that she drowns in when it comes to her father.
“It’s you!” Deissy pushes through us and stops right in front of Clarance.
He smiles kindly at her. “I’m glad to see you made it back all right. I would have checked on you sooner, but I wanted to give my daughter the space I sensed she needed.”
“You’re the warlock who saved them?” Bronywyn asks, and her father nods in response.