Page 32 of Atlas and the Traitor

“I know it’s driving you nuts.” His cousin was, second only to Atlas, the easiest of targets to rile up.

Her growl faltered when he let loose his smile, her own resigned chuckle following. “The way you two fight, I guess part of me always knew it was coming.”

He waggled his brows. “You know who else was coming last night...”

She rolled her golden eyes and backhanded his gut. “Did you get it out of your system?” she asked, as the rest of the team filled the room and claimed their seats at the tasting table.

Robin’s smile faded as his gaze sought his mate across the room, the last person he ever thought he’d be tied to, the person he wanted to fuck and strangle in equal measure. “I don’t think I’m ever getting him out of my system,” he replied, and Jenn gasped, correctly interpreting his meaning. “Trust me,” he added, “no one hates that more than me.”

Not the sex he’d spent all night having. Not even the fact that he and Atlas seemed to be on the same page for a change, working together to catch Evan and defeat Chaos. But after that mission was done, was Robin ready to have a mate? He’d been a lone wolf the past thirty years. Yes, he had the team here, friends and at least one family member who hadn’t shunned him completely, but he was on the outside looking in. Always had been, even before Deborah had died. She’d been his connection to the people around the table; without her, the threads still tying them together were no less heartfelt but all the more tenuous. He’d put his life on the line for any of them, he’d made Deborah that promise, and he acknowledged the world was a better place with all of them in it, even Icarus despite how much the mouthy courtesan exasperated him, but he’d rather hide out in the distillery alone than stay here and sing kumbaya. And he sensed every friend around the table and even the cousin beside him would rather he stay there too.

He deserved that for what he’d done—or rather hadn’t.

And it was easier to not disappoint anyone if he kept everyone out.

But he couldn’t keep his mate out. While he missed having someone in his life like Deborah, someone who had known him inside and out, he valued his independence more. Valued his free will the most. Was this magic that had tied him and Atlas together, that his mother had told him in her letters would find him when Nature needed him most, overriding that will? He meant what he’d told Atlas last night; he was tired of being a pawn in other people’s games—the warlock’s, Nature’s, magic’s. But was the draw he felt toward Atlas, even when he’d hated him most—the blood rushing in his veins, the tightening of his gut, the warmth in his chest, the stiffness of his cock—magic or something else entirely?

Robin didn’t like either answer. Hated that it didn’t matter even more.

He’d told Atlas to stop running. Could he ignore his own instinct to do the same?

Mac, dressed for a day at the office no matter the location, was the last team member to join them, the scrape of his chair across the floor drawing Robin out of his head and back into the room. “All right, we’re all here, again,” the raven said, droll as always.

Icarus wouldn’t know what the word meant if it hit him in the face, his blue gaze alight with mischief as it tracked a roving Atlas around the room. “Why are you wearing Robin’s shirt as a kilt?”

“They fucked,” Jenn announced.

The responses were as mixed and hilarious as Robin expected.

Paris, a sighed, “Finally.”

Mac, a choked, “What?”

Icarus, a maniacal cackle.

Adam, his head hung.

Abigail, a low whistle.

Mary, clapping from her position at the head of the table.

“Moving on...” Robin said with a carry-on gesture.

Only for Atlas to hit replay. “When Robin claimed me yesterday?—”

Responses were noticeably less varied, some version of “What the fuck?” echoing around the table—except from Mary.

Of course she knew.

Atlas didn’t break his stride, in steps or words, talking over the grenade he’d thrown. “It gave me an idea. The men who snatched me yesterday outside the hunter’s house?—”

“Wait, back up,” Adam said. “We need the full story. Not the fucking one, the kidnapping one.”

“Atlas got a text yesterday morning,” Robin explained. “It sent him to a house in The Corners.”

“The hunter’s,” Atlas said.

Adam pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “That’s consistent with what we found.” From over his shoulder, Robin studied the regional map—LP to Talahalusi—marked with locations. “Mentions of his appearance over the past few years are concentrated in the South or near reservations. Human, like Atlas said; Indigenous, we think, at least partially so.”

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