Escaping Death

Solana

I should have known that everything comes at a price. Tate suggesting we get out of the house wasn’t for my benefit, it was for his. He wanted to come here, he wanted to use me so he could pry his way into matters he has no business meddling in.

Nightshade isn’t necessarily a secret, but it’s not something to be broadcast, and it’s definitely not someone that Tate should be fucking around with so casually. There’s a certain protocol – a certain sanctity– to invoking that name. The people that come to order are at the end of their ropes, they’re hanging on by a frayed strand and putting everything they have left to offer into the hope that this ghost of a person will bring them the peace that they seek.

Tate has no business with Nightshade and would be wise to leave well enough alone. Except he can’t leave Nightshade alone – because Death is hunting him.

I watch Tate studying me, I can practically hear the wheels in his head turning trying to prioritize the questions he wants to ask me. He decides to start with, “how does it work?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. How does what work?” I lean my back against the bar so I can face out towards the club and people watch.

“Him.Nightshade.”

I shrug dismissively, “you’ve seen all there is to it. You name a name and he sets the price.”

“You obviously are in contact with him and you must have met him once or twice.”

“I can honestly say that I don’t talk to him. Are you going to drink that?” I nod towards the martini glass of water.

Tate gives me a quizzical look, “do I have to?”

I shake my head, “no. Just wondering.” I twist around and reach over for it, chugging it down. I love water.

A drop of it spills over the lip of the wide glass down the corner of my mouth, but before I can wipe it away myself Tate leans over me and kisses the dew drop away. A bolt of static electricity pulses across my skin at the contact.

“Tate —“ I exhale his name.

He doesn’t move, his lips hover above mine, his nose grazes my cheek. “Has he threatened you, Solana?”

Tate’s voice is dense like fog and dark as night, it weighs on me and contours to my body. “Is he forcing you to help him here?”

He skirts an inked hand up my arm before caging me in against the bar. “We can’t do our job if we don’t know the truth, Sunshine.”

“Which job is that? Babysitting me or hunting him?” I ask.

“Those two things are evidently not mutually exclusive. Make no mistake, I will find him.” He says with unshakable conviction.

“What happens to him then? You kill him? For existing? Because someone paid you the right amount?”

Tate recoils from me without releasing me from his snare. “You want to judge us when he does the exact same thing? That’s awfully hypocritical.”

“You’re not even in the same league as him,” I snarl.

“Are you fucking him?” He bites right back.

Under normal circumstances I might be insulted, I’d be compelled to slash my claws across Tate’s pretty face and walk away. But him asking me if I’m sleeping with Nightshade isn’t insulting, it’s ridiculous. It’s so far off-base that it’s hilarious. Which is why, rather than cutting him up, I burst out laughing in Tate’s pretty face.

His icy blue eyes widen at my unexpected outburst. “Why do you care?”

Tate stares at me for several long moments and each second that passes has my smile fading a little more. His teeth groan from how tight his bite is and his eyes look like they’re ready to ignite. The bar’s wooden edge begins to creak and complain under Tate’s intense grip.

Whether it’s him leaning into me, or me pushing forward towards him, somehow we’re drawn together, our chests pressing against one another such that our breathing and our heartbeats synchronize.

When he inhales I exhale, allowing his diaphragm to expand into my space. He pushes and I pull and it’s in this exchange, this dance, that I see the desperation in his eyes.

He holds me captive in his gaze as he tucks my unnaturally brown hair behind one ear exposing my neck. His eyes trace the column of my neck and settle at my pulse point, my marking spot.

“Because then I’d have more motive to kill him.”

Fuck me.

What the hell am I supposed to make of that? “Tate —“

He closes the thin distance between us and cuts me off with a kiss. Kissing him is like kissing electricity itself. My body is injected with 1000 volts of darkness and danger — of Tate.

Tate takes what he wants. His hands cover mine, making it impossible for me to move even if I wanted to but somehow I don’t feel trapped. I feel kept. Like holding me is more about him and what he wants and less about controlling me.

He tastes of black rum and ginger, a perfect embodiment of him as a person. Smooth and bold with a subtle warm spiciness.

I’m practically sucking the alcohol from his tongue when he slows down, planting a final kiss on my lips.

“Sol, I don’t know if you’re protecting him or he’s protecting you, or both. But that’s no longer his job, it’s ours.”

“I can’t give him to you, Tate.” I whisper to him the truth.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you that you’re free to cut ties with him, we will take care of you.”

“You’re starting to sound like your brother,” I tease him. That’s as close as I’m willing to get to agreeing to do as he asked.

Tate’s huff of air is his version of a laugh. “He’s definitely a caretaker. But he’s not the only one capable of taking care of you.” That dark, husky glare returns to his eyes and just as I’m ready to dip my tongue back into his intoxicating mouth I catch sight of a familiar face.

“Speak of the devil,” I murmur with a smirk and nod to someone just over his shoulder.

The way Tate strategically puts himself between me and the unknown person does not go unnoticed.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tate greets none other than Dean himself. “Is it just you?”

Dean looks right past Tate and focuses on me. “Yeah, it’s just me. I came because some asshole flew off with her before I could get a proper meal into her.”

“Why do you assume going out was my idea?” Tate feigns innocence.

Dean shoots him an unimpressed look, “Ace has better hearing than you think.”

“So he sent you here to bring me home?” I ask Dean, still sheltered behind Tate.

“He let me come make sure the two of you were safe and then, yes, I’m supposed to bring you home.” A mischievous grin spreads across his face, “but, technically, he didn’t say when those things needed to happen.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Dean?” Tate teases his brother.

“What? She’s been cooped up in the house for days with Ace of all people. For her mental sanity she requires a night out and I require a dance partner.” Dean extends his hand to me and then he pulls me past Tate and out into the middle of the dark dance floor.

Dean wastes no time grabbing ahold of my waist and moving our bodies as one to the beat of the music. Soon I’m sandwiched between both Dean and Tate, who must have followed us through the crowd.

“Jealous?” I taunt Tate, teasing him for following us in lieu of being left alone at the bar.

When Tate doesn’t answer I look up at Dean and catch him exchanging a meaningful look with Tate over my shoulder.

“No, Sunshine. Unlike Ace, Dean and I know how to share.”

A soft curse flies past Tate’s lips when Dean punches him in the ribs. Another unspoken conversation occurs between the brothers giving me time to imagine all the things he could mean by that. Sharing a home, clothes, women…

Me.

A sudden uncontrollable shiver of desire reverberates down to my core at the prospect but also at the memory of Ace and Hunter doing exactly that.

I laugh to myself knowing that Ace can share better than they think. But in the next breath my smile fades and my heart sinks because our bond is nothing like I expected.

Everyone says that it’s an instant connection, an impossible pull to resist. That your world will start and end with your mate, they’ll consume every thought and every decision you make.

But that’s not like Ace and me at all. Maybe it’s clouded by my bond with Hunter, maybe I’ve closed my heart off for so long it’s taking longer to penetrate through my defenses. Or maybe, like Hunter and Eli and their mates, he just doesn’t feel that strongly about me.

“He’s her mate, dipshit. Honestly, Tate. You have no fucking tact sometimes.” Dean scolds his younger brother.

Even from behind me I can tell that Tate isn’t smiling. He’s more rigid, his muscles more tense, his grip on my hips borders on the edge of uncomfortable.

“Are you upset that we’re mates?” I ask them both but really my question is intended for Tate. “And for what it’s worth I’m sorry I fucked up this last week for you, my head wasn’t always clear.”

Tate thinks for a moment about my question. “I’m not upset that you’re mates.”

“But you are upset?” I turn away from Dean to face Tate properly. He tries to shroud himself in shadows but I won’t let him hide from me. “Hey, if I can’t run off then neither can you.”

That gets his attention. He looks like I’ve punched a hole through his chest, like I managed to find the one chord that could shake him and I plucked it.

I shouldn’t poke the bear when he’s angry, but I can’t help the word vomit that erupts from my chest. “You think I can’t tell that you’re angry? You think people will see your ink and think you’re immune to pain? You cloak yourself in ink and shadows hoping to hide the fact that you have been hurt — that you’re still hurting.”

“You hide yourself too, Solana. Like a chameleon you change your hair, eyes, even your scars. But it’s not to blend in, it’s to hide.”

“I’ve never hidden the fact that I am angry, and hurt, and vengeful.”

“You’re right, you’ve used your pain as a shield to hide from the world, from finally being happy. And when you can’t do that — you run.”

The three of us aren’t dancing anymore. We’re standing stock still surrounded by bodies bumping into us who are none the wiser of the earth shattering conversation occurring next to them.

“You said it yourself, Tate,” my voice is deathly quiet. “I could have ditched you guys a long time ago. It’s my choice to come back — to stay.”

“Not anymore. Ace took away your freedom the minute he knotted you. That’s why I’m angry. He compromised your ability to choose to stay on your own, to have a say in your own life.”

When I look into Tate’s arctic blue eyes I recognize that this whole conversation isn’t about me.

It’s about him.

Him and his insecurities.

He’s told me before, maybe not in so many words, that he believed that his mom felt trapped in her life and one day she finally decided to leave. But how different could his life have been if she had been able to make that choice earlier?

Maybe he would have found a stable home to grow up in, maybe Dean could have just been a brother and not a substitute parent, maybe he wouldn’t be so enraged and that cold fire within him would warm from knowing he was loved — that someone chose to love him.

“I can still choose to leave, you know? Baby or no baby. It’s just a matter of flying away. I’m still here because I want to be. Gods only know why because between the five of you it’s a constant shit-show,” I try to lighten the mood a little and it seems to have worked because Tate gives me his huff of a chuckle and cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Kiss and make up so I get back to watching you move, Sunshine.” Dean hugs my waist and kisses the pulse of my neck. He sways me in his arms to the music, easing us back into rhythm.

“Gladly,” Tate smiles at me with hunger before slipping his hands around the base of my skull and electrifying me once more with a kiss.