Page 162 of Creatures that Breathe

“No Lev?” Cross asks, sweeping me into his chest, shadows caressing my elbows.

Atlas runs his tongue over his teeth. “Not this time. He’s keeping busy on the mission with Sin and Drake. It’s good for him.”

I squeeze Cross’s fingers. My memories of the Russian are limited, but I know he’s Cross’s partner and best friend, and the sudden distance is no easy feat.

“If there’s a Phoenix out there,” Atlas states. “We’ll find them.”

“And we’ll keep them safe,” Cross adds, dropping to brush his lips over the ink on my cheek. “Together. Always.”

After decades trapped in the dark, the Blackguard have a lead and renewed drive. The king may be dead, but it’s clear his reign still influences the realm, whether through marriage contracts, alliances or his family. Maybe Kadmos’s curse wasn’t selfish, maybe it was a way for him to ensure, even in death, hope would burn. It’s up to the Blackguard now. Villains and killers, a family bound not by blood, but beliefs, to uphold the king’s original intentions. Safety for all creatures. Equality. Peace.

Not just the Blackguard.

Me too.

Cross and I can dance around it as much as we like, can dread and fear it, but power hums inside me. Raw, war ending power. And it’s clear in my tattoos, Cross’s notes, in the sting of the spymasters teeth on my skin when he confesses his love for me, that I am too powerful not to fight.

Which is good, because I’m never running again.

As Atlas leaves, his black wingtip boots leaving perfect marks in the shifting sand, a spark kindles inside me, flickering with the same golden light as the sun. The future is uncertain, but I know with bone-deep certainty that there will always be hope.

“Cross?” I ask, in that tone. The one that earns me access to any question, any request, any wish.

“Anything,” Cross returns. No hesitation.

My cheeks are sore from smiling. “I’m …” I wet my lips, and his gaze fastens there, darkens. I tilt my head at him. “… chilly.”

Instantly, a cage of black surrounds us, heat and darkness roiling, gone are the sun and waves. There’s nothing but the spy and his power. And me, tucked between. Lovely, burning desire glazes Cross’s irises, eradicates the green until his intentions are black and white.

“Hmm,” I move to my toes, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “I don’t think we’re going to make it back home.”

Even the shadows seem to laugh.