Between the Moon and Her Night (Between Life and Death #3)

Chapter 18

Von

C ursing under my breath, I clothed myself and swung the door open, finding my smirking brother standing on the other side.

“You two seem to be getting off to a good start,” he snarked, shoving a clear glass bottle against my chest as he strolled past me and into my private chambers as if he owned the damn place. The insolent bastard.

Reminded me of myself.

“Not exactly,” I said, fighting the bond and its incessant need to be near her. That pull had gotten even worse now that we were mated. It was like a chain wrapped around my ankle from me to her—the further she got, the more it pulled. Sighing to myself, I made the split-second decision to let my little runaway have a head start; it wasn’t like she would get very far anyway. Not with the bond working against her, my ink on her skin, and my scent all over her— in her .

The latter I had made sure of.

Not just so that I could find her, but so any curious immortals who got any unwise ideas would know who she belonged to. I’d marked her with my seed. And I planned to do it every chance I got like the territorial asshole I was.

I pulled my thoughts from her and pushed them on to the bottle, surveying the color of the spirits inside. The amber liquid was a hairsbreadth darker than it usually was. To the human eye, the difference would be undetectable, but to mine, it stuck out like a sore thumb.

I turned around, facing my brother. I raised the bottle and asked, “What is this?”

He shoved his hand in his pocket, his smirk growing. “A gift for the happy couple.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking.” My expression remained flat. “If you have come here to be a leech, you can see yourself out.”

“Relax, brother, I’m just screwing with you. Also, I spent the morning feeding off Saphira’s emotions so—” he patted his stomach, “—I’m full. By the way, she’s pissed about you not going through with the plan. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this angry.”

The plan. To use the Crown of Thorns to end Aurelia’s immortal life, thus freeing me of the risk to mine. It had been Saphira’s idea, and for a moment, I had considered it.

Now? The thought of going through with it curdled the contents in my stomach.

“You should probably go speak with her,” Folkoln tacked on.

I raised a lone brow. “Do you think it would do any good?”

“Probably not.” His broad shoulders bobbed. “But it might be worth a try.”

I sighed.

If anyone possessed the ability to stay stuck on something for an eternity, it was Saphira. Navigating her persistence would be a challenge, one I’d have to figure out sooner rather than later.

I walked over to the private bar—forged of black stone and darkly stained wood. Shelves, full of liquor, lined the wall behind it. Six tall stools sat in front, specially made for my long legs. Sitting in squatty-ass stools got old real fast when you were my height.

Folkoln started, “I’m going to be away in the Living Realm for a while. I quite enjoyed my time there during the Immortal War, but the taverns they have are atrocious, so I’m going to open a string of new ones just like Hard Spirits.”

I plucked two glasses that were turned over, neatly stacked on top of a clean cloth.

“The God of Life is going to be pissed when he finds out you are setting up taverns in his realm,” I said, smirking. Aurelius would see it for what it was—a royal fuck you.

“I’m counting on it,” Folkoln stated with a twisted grin as he walked over and slid onto one of the stools.

“How long do you plan to be gone?” I popped the cork on the bottle and poured a few fingers’ worth inside the glasses.

“That’s a good question,” he said. “It depends how much time it takes to get permits and build the structures, but I plan to work around the clock until the taverns are finished. I’ll pop back in every once in a while to check on Hard Spirits, but my primary focus will be on getting the new establishments up and running.”

I nodded and slid one glass across the bar top, over to Folkoln.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding once. “Looks like the mating bond was successful. Your eyes have changed.”

“They have.” I picked up my glass.

He smirked. “They remind me of Saph’s now.”

I rolled my eyes and he laughed.

Bringing the rim to my nose, I breathed in the spirits. Like the color, the scent was off too.

“Do you remember that one experimental batch you made a few summers back?” Folkoln asked.

Over the centuries, I’d made a lot of barrels, and drank myself to oblivion on a good portion of them. They all tended to blur together. “Not really.”

“I figured. I found this barrel tucked way in the back, covered in a few decades’ worth of dust. You know me—I’m willing to try anything once—so I tapped into it.”

“And?”

“Drink up and see for yourself.” He clinked his cup against mine. “To forgotten barrels and pissed-off females.”

“Creator have mercy on us all.” I shot the glass back.