Page 11 of Atlas and the Traitor

“Risky.” Robin flopped onto the couch beside Mary. “They know what you are?”

“They worship her,” he said with a jut of his chin toward the green-haired pixie popping grapes into her mouth. “Now, stop stalling, and tell me why you’re really here.”

Mary leaned forward, like she was about to answer, only to be cut off again by the fucking dog. “If we show you our cards, you show us yours.”

Atlas fetched three glasses, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and lowered into the chair on the other side of Mary.

“I’m not giving you everything we know,” Robin said, as Atlas filled their glasses, “so you can just run off and save your brother.”

“Who says that’s what I intend to do?” He slid the glass the length of the table, vodka sloshing over the rim when Robin saved it from toppling off the edge and onto the floor. Atlas lifted his gaze, meeting Robin’s intrigued gold one. “She promised you vengeance. You’ll get it.”

“On your terms.”

Atlas lifted his glass. “Does it matter?”

Eight

“I knew there had to be more to the calm than just vodka.”

Atlas took another puff on his joint, then glanced over his shoulder at his unwelcome visitor—who was still bare-chested despite the cool December night. “Are you allergic to shirts?”

“More like allergic to you.” He approached behind Atlas’s chair and plucked the joint from his fingers. “I don’t trust you. I may need to shift at any moment.”

“But you trust my weed?”

Robin circled the fire pit and lowered into the chair on the other side of the bistro table from Atlas. “If it’s anything like your vodka, only the high-end shit for you.” He took a long drag on the joint, then puffed smoke rings out of his nostrils like some kind of silly dragon. “Yep, as I expected.” He handed the joint back across the table, then stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles propped on the fire pit ledge, hands folded on his abs that Atlas did not notice rippling. “I hope you weren’t planning to sleep in the loft tonight. Mary’s spread her shit all over the place. Never ends well.”

“How long have you two been traveling together?”

“About a month.”

“And Icarus hasn’t come after you yet?”

Mary’s brother had spent the last thirty years protecting her. That devotion, apparent even when he and Mary were simple humans, was the reason Canton had identified Mary as a vessel for Nature, why he’d infiltrated their lives to make sure the transformations happened—Mary into Nature, Icarus into her vampire protector. Why Canton had ultimately given his life for the effort, though the circumstances of his death remained a fuzzy mystery—a weighty guilt—that nagged at Atlas.

In any event, Icarus had been dutiful, staying far enough away from Mary to avoid detection but close enough to reach her in case of emergencies. Atlas had made sure Paris always had enough Daylight to sell to him for such occasions. And now, after all that effort, when Icarus was no longer a vampire but had a whole army at his back, he’d let his sister wander off... with Robin?

“Your pupil’s doing,” the coyote explained. “Paris told Mac that she’s safe with me. If he’d been lying, Mac would’ve felt it in their soul bond. Mac told the others. That and they’re probably still pissed at me for giving Paris’s location to the final giant.”

Atlas smiled around the joint. “He was ready.”

“You raised him well.”

“I didn’t?—”

“Did Vincent think you were Evan?”

The abrupt swerve saved Atlas from the pinch in his chest and the half-made deflection. He thanked Robin for the small mercy with a small piece of the truth. “He wanted Evan, but only Chaos would do for my brother. So I offered Vincent the next best thing, a look-alike and the second most powerful Shaw brother.”

“Is that why you don’t wear the suit anymore?”

“That, and I always preferred kilts.” He took another long puff on the joint before handing it back across the table.

Robin accepted it with narrowed eyes. “I can’t decide whether you’re good or evil.”

“Do you still want to kill me?”

“Yes,” he answered with zero hesitation.

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