Limping, he brought Sif into the fold, into the heart of their encampment. She glanced around warily, though mostly, her gaze settled on the back of his neck. He could feel that gaze, calculating, measuring, cold against his flesh as if it was a physical thing.
Phelan took a slow, silent breath to steady himself as they drew closer to the fire. You’re in control of this one, Taliesin, just remember that. You hold more cards than she does—and she knows it.
Déithe agus arrachtaigh, I hope that Thordin’s not sitting there. His stomach roiled. He could taste the tension between the pair of lovers, worse than it had ever been between Thom and Marin, even when he’d first come at the beginning, worse than it had ever been with Finn and Brighíd so long ago, at the heights of their arguments, at the very worst times.
Then again, no one ever slept with someone’s brother in those scenarios, either.
“You swear that you weren’t the one who told him?”
“I didn’t tell him,” Phelan repeated, twisting to look at her. “Why can’t you believe that?”
“Because you won’t tell me who did, Wanderer. In absence of alternatives, what else am I to do but believe that it must have been you who told him?”
“It was Teague,” Phelan snapped, hating himself for the admission. “They ran into each other in Colorado a few years ago. I don’t know how it came up, I just know that it did. Thordin told me.” Teague didn’t even tell me they’d run into each other. That still stung a little. Teague didn’t keep many secrets from him.
But it’s hell to get slapped in the face with the ones he does decide to keep.
“The Prince of Princes? He’s still breathing, too?”
“We’re hardier folk than most people like to think,” Phelan said, wincing as he stepped funny and stumbling. Sif caught him by the arm before he went crashing to the ground. He swore heartily as ribbons of pain shot through his chest and abdomen as he righted himself, allowing himself the luxury of leaning against her for a moment. “My current state of affairs nonwithstanding.”
“Phelan, what the hell are you doing up?”
He flinched at the sound of Jacqueline’s voice, straightening quickly as he spotted her out of the corner of his eye. Her stride slowed as she studied Sif, who let go of Phelan hesitantly, canting her head to one side and studying the newcomer.
“Matt came and got me,” he explained, turning toward her and reaching a hand out for the healer. “Said there was trouble brewing and he needed a hand.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to deal with him later,” Jacqueline said as she took Phelan’s hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes raked over him quickly, as if she was checking to make sure he hadn’t suddenly sprouted any new wounds.
She’s probably doing just that. He suppressed the urge to sigh. I’m turning into some kind of violence-magnet and my body’s starting to pay the price for it. This is worse than it ever was back in the old days, and I swear I had more enemies in a smaller area then than I do now.
Maybe I’m just getting old.
“Who’s our guest?” Jacqueline asked, still looking at Sif.
“Sif,” the blonde said with a smile as cold as the frozen north.
Jacqueline’s brows knit. “Like Odin and all that?”
“Yes. Like that.” Sif’s gaze returned to Phelan. “I believe I’ll find that fire now.”
Phelan gestured vaguely. “It’s over there.”
Sif nodded, brushing past him, long strides eating the distance.
“Aren’t Sif and Thor—”
“It’s complicated,” Phelan said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
“It’s complicated” That’s a mouth full, for sure. I still like these “ghost people.” Perhaps because they are from another realm. Quite familiar.
Thank you for the new update. This is like a huge dysfunctional family reunion. 🙂