Page 83 of Light

“We haven’t taken a thing that you didn’t steal from the world in the first place, Faline.”

Though my amazing wife addresses the whole issue as the furthest thing from a crisis.

Clearly Faline shares my bewilderment about Emma’s easygoing tone. If I weren’t so paranoid about watching every millimeter of movement from the woman, I’d join her in casting an openly curious glare around the room—blatantly wondering, as she is, how this luxury penthouse office has become a police interrogation room, with Emma turning into the conversational “good cop.”

“You’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about…yes?” More of the let’s-shoot-the-shit banter, though Emma doesn’t back off the intensity of her fireballs and their shield-sized extension. It’s not her intention to give me a coronary yet, thank God. “Let’s follow the logic, then. The hundred and forty-eight souls we dragged out of your underground prison, along with nearly that many who paid the price for your evil with their lives, is pretty self-explanatory.”

She straightens her spine and juts her chin as I privately contemplate Faline’s fall into complete silence—but then start to experiment with it. Strangely, the woman seems to shrink back farther every time I so much as lean in Emma’s direction. There’s nothing different about the result of our proximity—as usual, our pulses quicken as our energies communicate and connect with each other—but those factors have always been ours alone to know about and revel in, never a tangible force outside of our supercharged bubble. Until now…

“That gets us to the subject of the twins,” Emma announces. “A pair of life forms that you created without the consent or knowledge of their father and then drafted into your service from the day they became half-sentient beings—in essence, turning them into your slaves.”

I have no idea how she keeps up her casual demeanor, but I’m damn glad she somehow finds the fortitude. Her rundown helps me continue mine. With a step closer to Emma, I watch Faline’s immediate fallback. When I shift away, the bitch is back to determined stealth, making me wonder where she’s hiding the katanas and poisoned apples. The result is a combination of exhilaration and trepidation. I imagine this is what Van Helsing felt when discovering Dracula’s issue with crucifixes. Great—a way to keep the monster at bay. Shit—now we have to face the concept of seriously confronting her.

Not that my badass miracle of a wife is comprehending any of that—or, for that matter, letting it hold her up. She’s still facing off against Faline with the grace of an Amazonian queen. If she feels the air shifting with the vacillating balance of power, she doesn’t show it—even when Faline moves to fight it, flexing and unflexing her hands as she moves her weight from one hip to the other and back again.

“What they are is of no concern to you, little Flare.”

Emma’s jaw visibly stiffens. Her shield blazes so strongly, it sounds like a rocket revving for takeoff. “When children are enslaved, it’s everyone’s concern,” she spits.

Faline flashes her teeth again. “They are not yours, damn it!”

“Hmmm.” Emma taps her chin. “Is that so? Because we did just kind of find them, you know? And they just sort of followed us, like hungry kittens, you know?”

“A lie!” Faline lunges. Well, tries to. As soon as I shift closer to Emma, Faline’s thrown back as if she rammed into a glass slider that was cleaned too well. “You did not just find them. You stole them!”

Emma folds her arms. “That sounds cool too. I always did wonder why Robin Hood couldn’t be a girl.”

Faline’s face turns the color of furious embers. “Damn you.”

Faline rages again. This time with an amped volume button. “Damn you!”

“Screw you.”

The parting shot is gasoline on Faline’s coals, but Emma clearly doesn’t care. My woman’s mind is already made up. Faline isn’t getting anywhere near her children or her man, and she’s willing to give her life for that cause. I don’t make the observation lightly. The woman is prepared to die for this.

Meaning there’s only one thing for me to do about it.

I stomp forward, bringing myself shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

Standing with her.

Connecting with her.

Compelling her to hold me as tightly as I grab her. Showing her, as clearly as I’m dictating to Faline, exactly how clear I am about the discovery of the twins’ paternity—and how it changes nothing in what I just declared to her. If Faline wants those girls back, she’ll have to go through us first. Both of us. And right now, I’d almost like to see her try—if only to show the pathetic hag that her hate and fear don’t stand a chance against the force of our bond, our family, our love.

A love that overrides so much. A power, greater than lightning blasts or solar punches or air erasures, that makes my heart slam screeching brakes on so many of my angry, violent instincts.

For a single moment.

The only second Faline needs.

To whirl and then dive back into the portal she’s reopened on the air—leading to God only knows where.

Not that I fucking care. She’s good and gone, at least for now—a fact that should have me back at square one of my usual teeth gnashing and self-raging but simply doesn’t.

Because as thoroughly as I still want to wrap my hands around that woman’s neck until I feel her windpipe snap, there are more important issues to handle right now.

No. More important people.