Page 13 of Love the Way You Lion
He’s a keg of dynamite with a lit fuse, the kind where you know there’s no prospect of snuffing out the flame. The man is a hair’s breadth away from wreaking havoc, the separation from his wife and child drawing him ever closer to the point of no return. His fury is palpable, a tangible force that dares anyone to challenge his resolve.
We have to keep him on this side of sanity unless we want a slaughter.
I take a slow sip of my martini, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the heat of the room. The tension is a living thing, coiling around us as tightly as a python ready to strike. I set the glass down with a soft clink and clear my throat, pulling their attention to me.
“Calm down, assassin. We’re not happy, either.” My words are a balm, or at least I intend them to be. “It’s bad enough this comes not very long after the departure of the fallen—the loafer was just getting back to normal.” I lean back in my chair, my gaze drifting over each face. “We were ready to deal with baby madness, not community-wide depression.”
Siren steps forward, her stance predatory yet poised, an elegant danger that commands silence before she even speaks. Her eyeslock onto Taurus, holding him in a grip more formidable than any physical restraint could manage.
“It’s possible that she is trying to extricate herself on her own and has been unsuccessful because of emotional pressures.” Siren’s voice is smooth, calculated, like the stroke of a velvet glove over a fist of steel. “She does not enjoy being away from you.”
Taurus’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking in a telltale sign of his barely contained wrath. He knows the truth in Siren’s statement; it’s etched into every line of worry marking his face.
“I fear it leaves us with very few tactical options, none of which are appealing.” There’s a certain respect in her tone, an acknowledgment of Taurus’s expertise that doesn’t go unnoticed. “You know that, knife thrower. It is your skill to assess such situations.”
Taurus’s hands curl into fists and then relax, the internal battle playing out right before our eyes. His love for her, his need for action—it’s all there, written in the taut lines of his body, the hard set of his mouth. But he’s listening, weighing her words, because if there’s one thing Taurus respects, it’s the cutthroat acumen of a fellow predator.
Talia’s expression doesn’t waver as she takes in Siren’s analysis, her brow arching ever so slightly. The room holds its breath, waiting for her verdict. It’s seldom that Talia concedes to a plan without some form of embellishment or dramatic flair. But this time, there’s a gravity in her voice that matches the weight of our situation.
“Correct,” she finally says, and I can see the gears turning behind those calculating eyes. “The only major options are: forcibly remove, grift our way in with condolences and convince her, or to allow her to find a way out on her own.” She ticks off each option with a slender finger, dismissing them just as quickly. “Everything else—like a fake emergency, an appointment she forgot, a check-incall—will only arouse suspicion and they will double down on the pressure to keep her in place.”
Her gaze sweeps across us, taking in the resigned nods and tightened jaws. “None of the three have more than a thirty percent chance of success given the variables.”
A visceral growl emanates from Taurus’s throat, the sound filling the room with his anguish and fury. He rises suddenly, his chair scraping back with an angry screech. “Iwant my sodding wife back so she can grieve!!” he bellows, fists clenched at his sides.
The intensity of his pain is palpable, and it ripples through the room, touching each of us with its raw power. He stalks toward the bar, movements brusque and filled with purpose. His hand wraps around a bottle of scotch, and with a swift, practiced motion, he pours a generous amount into a glass. Watching him, the liquid amber seems to glow with the same fire that’s consuming him from within.
I can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Taurus. To be so close, yet so far from the one you love—it’s a torment I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. His desperation is a mirror to our collective resolve; we will move heaven and earth to bring her back. It’s not just about strategy anymore, it’s personal.
And when things get personal, all bets are off.
The clink of the glass as Taurus sets it down punctuates his last word, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence and heavy breaths in the room. I watch Rafe, who’s been quiet—a statue in this tempest of emotion—finally move. His gaze lifts from the shadows that seem to cling to him like an unwanted second skin, meeting Taurus’s bloodshot eyes.
“She won’t grieve until she’s taken care of everyone else,” he whispers, voice barely carrying over the tension that hangs thickbetween us. “Sari knows that. She hasn’t once come looking for me, nor did she ask for me to sit with them during the service. The cat is her new lifeline.” Rafe’s fingers twitch at his side, betraying the calmness in his voice. “We need to get her home. Wehaveto get her home.”
The urgency in Rafe’s whisper cuts through the fog of anger and helplessness, grounding us with its stark reality. It’s not just a mission, it’s a plea—one that resonates with all the unspoken fears we’ve been harboring since this nightmare began.
Talia and Taurus exchange a glance, charged with an electric current that seems to arc through the air. It’s a silent communication, an understanding born of shared torment and the intimacy that only those who have faced darkness together can truly comprehend. Their eyes lock, speaking volumes in the briefest of moments—a confirmation of the unsaid suspicions that have been brewing beneath the surface.
The gravity of their shared knowledge weighs heavy, an invisible shroud that drapes over our gathering, binding us together in our collective resolve. We are a unit, fractured by circumstance and yet forged stronger in the fires of adversity. Whatever is happening between our two and those two, it’s a catalyst, propelling us toward action with a renewed sense of determination.
I lean back in my chair, feeling the pieces of this twisted puzzle slotting into place with each passing second. The truth may be murky, the path fraught with peril, but one thing is crystal clear: we will bring her home or die trying. At that moment, there’s no other option I can entertain.
Rafe’s voice was an indistinct murmur, tinged with the raw edges of pain and determination. I can’t help but watch him, noting the set of his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands as he tries to veil his turmoil. His words about Deli not grieving until everyone else istaken care of resonate with a profound truth that only someone deeply connected could understand. I see the fear in his eyes, a fear that the emotional vampire has sunk her teeth too deep into his mate, and it’s a chilling thought.
“Unlike us,” I muse silently, “they don’t grasp the full extent of the danger. But who are we to shatter their hopes with our knowledge?” It’s a secret burden, one we carry with the heaviness of shadows clinging to our souls. Still, Rafe seems oddly anchored, despite the chaos swirling around him. Perhaps it’s because he’s already walked through the darkest alleys of his mind and come out unscathed, but alive. Or maybe it’s because Deli, the unexpected lifeline, is still within reach, providing a glimmer of light in an otherwise suffocating gloom.
I push back my chair; the sound scraping against the silence that has fallen like a curtain over the room. Standing, I let my gaze sweep across the faces of my companions—each one etched with lines of frustration and resolve.
“Okay,” I declare, my voice slicing through the tension, “We all agree that no plan is perfect and none have a good chance of success.” I pause, locking eyes with each person at the table. “But look at us—we’re a storm of brainpower, experience, and raw, seething anger. That’s got to be worth something.”
I clench my fists, feeling the energy pulsing in the room, feeding off our collective fury. “I, for one, refuse to let that mangy mutt outsmart me.” The challenge is obvious, thrown down like a gauntlet on the cold hard ground of our reality. “Who’s with me?”
The question hangs in the air, thick with implication and the unspoken bond that ties us together. We’re bound by more than just this mission—we’re bound by a need to protect what’s ours, to reclaim a piece of ourselves from the jaws of defeat.
“Me.” The word is a whip crack, and we all startle as Talia’s fist comes down hard on the table. The thud resonates, a sharp punctuation to the challenge I threw into the space between us.
Everyone’s eyes swivel toward her, drawn by the sudden assertion of her presence. There’s no mistaking the iron in her tone, the steel in her spine as she squares her shoulders. Talia is a force unto herself—her determination practically a palpable entity in the room. Taurus, standing rigid by the bar, his jaw clenched tight enough to grind stone to dust, hesitates for a heartbeat. It’s as if he’s measuring the weight of her words, gauging the fire behind them before he moves.
