Page 23 of Atlas and the Traitor

“One way or another, you’ll get your revenge.” Either option depended on his last brother being dead by Solstice. What happened after that death, which direction his soul traveled, depended on what side Evan chose when he met his end.

Robin rose from the chaise. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Not for that.” He stepped closer, looming over Atlas, stirring memories of what they’d done in the shadows yesterday afternoon. Robin’s mind was back then too, only slightly earlier. “For shielding me.”

Atlas nodded.

“Why did you?”

The well of things he couldn’t name bubbled up again, battling to roll off his tongue. Respect. Commiseration. Desire. Fate. “Because I need a hunter,” he said. Also true. “And I hear you’re the best.”

“At least we can agree on that.” He threw a smirk over his shoulder as he turned to leave, and for a brief moment, all did seem right with the world.

Sixteen

Three days later, Atlas was ready to murder Robin.

Or fuck him again.

It was a balancing act he was going to lose either way.

And the coyote knew it. What was it he’d said that night at the safe house? He could either drive himself crazy or drive Atlas crazy.

Well, mission fucking accomplished.

Just missing Evan outside of Nipomo, watching him disappear into the crowd at Holy Cross Pier, losing him again after a chase through Portola University, realizing the tip that had led them to Encinal was a wash was all very frustrating.

But not nearly as frustrating as being trapped in motel rooms with a still allergic-to-shirts Robin who regularly walked around with his jeans unbuttoned, no briefs or boxers on underneath. Who prowled around without making a sound, and, like Atlas, somehow disguised his scent. Who showed up the past two mornings with a perfect cup of coffee, like he’d conjured it out of thin air.

He was infuriating, he was maddening, he was everything Atlas wanted and could never fucking keep. And knowing what he sounded like when he came, how rough his voice had been when he’d vowed not to let Atlas hide, what his cock felt like trapped against his, how that big body could cover his made it damn near impossible not to let the madness drive him right back into Robin’s arms.

He needed to get out of there before he did something he’d regret, something that would alter the course of the conflict and result in one or both of them dead.

Finishing that morning’s perfect cup of joe, he pitched the cup in the tiny trashcan by the scuffed and scratched motel room dresser and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Robin asked from his casually lounged position on the bed farthest from the door.

“Out,” Atlas said without another tempting look back. “Away from the smell of dog.” Robin wasn’t reining any of it in today, not his smell, not his heartbeat that too often clocked to his own, and definitely not his throaty chuckle that Atlas slammed the door on.

Outside, he leaned back against the cement wall and inhaled deep, struggling to center himself.“Whose idea was this?”he mentally asked his mother.“Yours or hers?”

“We decided together.”

He rolled his eyes.“Of course you did.”

“You could let him in.”

“I could get him killed. Like his sister.”

No reply. She never had an answer for that one.

He inhaled once more, letting the cold air and salty scent of the angry Bay tamp down the boiling frustration. A winter storm had moved through last night, bringing rain, wind, and colder temps, leaving the parking lot full of puddles.

Solstice was growing near; they were running out of time.

Refocused on his mission, he pulled out his phone to start following up with the sources he’d pinged last night after realizing Encinal was a bust. Before he dialed the first source, though, a text appeared onscreen from a North Bay number he didn’t recognize. No name, no message, just an address that Atlas mapped to The Corners, a crossroads town further inland, over the ridge and at the foot of Tuyshtak. Miwok land.

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