Page 83 of A Warrior's Fate

Step, step, step.

Isla vexed the squeaky entryway as she guided it open with her foot, and the creaking floor once again betrayed her arrival as she broke the threshold. But no one appeared upon the noise. No lost souls or secret killers.

Things had been moved, she noticed, mostly within the small kitchenette. Her cupboards and fridge left open, a bag and bowl of chips left on the counter. With a quirked eyebrow, Isla tiptoed over to the lot, fighting her urge to tidy everything.

She jolted at the sound of a flushing toilet and whipped around to face the bathroom door. Her scalpel was up and ready as her heart ratcheted up a few paces.

But the bracing for battle was all for naught, as exiting the washroom was her brother.

Relief and rage swirled in Isla’s gut, and she almost chucked the small blade at him anyway.

“Sebastian, what the hell?” she roared, dropping her weapon to the side.

Her brother flashed a grin, greeting her with her beloved nickname before directing his eyes to the astonished guard who hadn’t drifted too far from the apartment’s entrance. “Who’s this?”

Isla wouldn’t have told him even if she knew.

Obviously, there had to have been a reason for Sebastian to just show up—or rather, break in—to her home. His own place was a good hour’s walk away on the other side of the city in the more luxurious townhouses, so he’d gone through the hassle of getting here. But she didn’t care. This was humiliating, absolutely humiliating.

She jabbed a finger towards the door. “Get out.”

Sebastian strolled over to the counter to what was his bowl of food. The open cabinets and disarray should’ve flagged her off immediately as to who had come in.

He pulled a chip from his bowl. “We have to talk.”

Isla’s eyes narrowed to slits, but she’d entertain him. “About what?”

Sebastian hesitated, gaze flicking over to the flabbergasted man lingering by her doorframe. When he moved back to Isla, he began an explanation—through broken words and hand movements. It was entirely vague and nonsensical, and entirely something she didn’t have the time or patience for.

She pointed to the door again. “Get out.”

“It’s about your mate.”

Isla’s body went stiff.

“You’re mated?”

She spun to the guard to find his face, previously flushed, had paled substantially. The fear was valid. Touching someone’s actual mate the way he’d been all over her was nearly unheard of. Even Cora’s true mate had known better than to try anything with Cora while she and Adrien were still bound. There wouldn’t have been any second-guessing on the Heir’s part—he would’ve likely killed him on the spot—and that would’ve opened a whole new catastrophe.

“No, I’m not.”

The guard let out an unmissable sigh of relief before he shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Do you, uh, want me to wait outside?”

He still wanted to stick around. That was a good sign…or he was just a man. Okay to wait for however long as long as he ended up in her bed.

It was tempting. The thought of Sebastian leaving and them picking up right where they left off…but she wasn’t sure if it was her brother’s presence or the verbal reminder of Kai, but she wasn’t necessarily in the mood anymore.

“No,” she said, taking a few steps towards him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

The guard’s eyebrows rose, not seeming to expect that answer. He opened his mouth like he’d protest, or make another proposal, but then he closed it and relegated to a nod. Something like defeat and disappointment flashed in his eyes.

Isla trailed him to the exit as he let himself out and then worked on each of her locks—the chain above, then the knob. Her head remained hung low as she closed her eyes and sighed a breath.

“Poor bastard.”

Isla whirled around to her brother with murder in her eyes. “You bastard.” She reached for the first thing she could find—one of her slippers—and launched it across the room. Sebastian caught it effortlessly, and Isla let out an aggravated growl. “You scared the shit out of me! Why are you here? You could’ve called!”

Sebastian threw her footwear to the side. “I did, and you never picked up.”

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