Page 8 of Wrath

“Is everything okay? Is everyone safe?” I followed B and Davia through the tent flaps, belatedly aware of my mates trailing behind me.

“Everyone is safe,” B assured me.

The interior of the tent was deceptively small, with a single rectangular table dominating the center of the space. On it were maps, tiny figurines, and documents. A short man with tan skin and pitch-black hair stood behind the table, his hands clasped behind his back.

“HH,” I breathed.

My human friend glanced up and nodded once, his jaw tight and his gaze homed in on something behind me. No, not something. Someone.

I followed the direction of his gaze—past B and my lovers, past Phineas and his first mate—to the unassuming, pale-faced girl standing at the back of our group.

Mali.

The lump that always manifested whenever I thought of Aaliyah or S or my imprisonment returned with a vengeance.

I’d be the first to admit that I’d been ignoring Mali, as horrible as that made me. She had just endured unthinkable torture at the hands of my sister, and I… I didn’t want to be near her. Whenever I saw her face, I thought of Diego. Whenever I heard her soft whimpers or sobs, guilt barraged me from every direction.

Guilt that I’d allowed Diego to die.

Guilt that I’d allowed Mali to be tortured for months before I saved her.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

So much fucking guilt, I feared I would one day drown in it.

Seeing the bruises on her face only exacerbated that.

But I knew it wasn’t guilt HH felt when he stared at her. No, the expression distorting his face was significantly darker than that.

It was raw, unbridledhatred.

“You,” he hissed, his hands balling into fists.

Mali staggered back a step as if she’d been physically shot. “HH, I’m sorry?—”

“Diego is dead because of you,” HH continued, his naturally soft voice somehow sounding like the crack of a whip in the quiet of the tent.

Mali’s lower lip quivered, and tears flooded her eyes. “I’m sorry?—”

“Enough.” B moved to stand in front of HH, his jaw set. All at once, he wasn’t a frail old man but the leader of the most famous and powerful resistance in the world. “Mali is not the enemy here.”

“But…” HH squeezed his eyes shut, his lashes fluttering against his cheekbones, and curled his hands into fists.

Unlike his mate, Diego, HH was known for his levelheaded attitude. Seeing Mali was probably a shock to him, but he wouldn’t allow his anger to consume him. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly, before reopening his eyes and spearing B with a look, encouraging him to continue.

B squeezed HH’s shoulder in reassurance before turning to face the rest of us. My mates crowded around me in the tent, while Davia moved to join B. Phineas and Toylo, who had followed us here, eyed the group distrustfully.

“Mali is not the enemy here,” B repeated. “We know who our enemies are.”

“Nightmares,” Davia hissed, baring her teeth at Phineas.

The mermaid simply smirked at her. “I like a girl with a little attitude. Keep gnashing your teeth at me. It really turns me on.”

Davia scoffed and looked away.

“Not all nightmares are our enemies,” B told her firmly before turning to address me. “We heard that the kings have been locked away.”

“That's all we can do for the time being.” Devlin stepped forward, looking every inch the domineering prince with his brown curls and olive complexion. His violet eyes shone like gemstones in the candlelight. “We need to find a way to legitimize our rule.”

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