Page 290 of Scarlet Wars
“They formed the True Bond?” the High Chief asked Stephen.
The latter nodded, tight-lipped. “They did, though I couldn’t find out when exactly.”
Emma halted so abruptly the undergrowth rustled around her boots, branches brushing back into place as tension rippled through her frame. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Caden pushed past a low-hanging branch, letting it snap softly behind him, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You always do.”
She glared at him. “I’m serious.”
“Remember when we took down the United Chiefs?” he asked lightly. “You had a bad feeling then too. And we killed every single one of them in what? A few hours?”
Emma huffed, clearly unconvinced.
“Baby,” he went on, softer now but no less confident, “you always have a bad feeling. Odds are, one day you’ll be right. Today’s not that day.”
She grabbed his arm and spun him around, forcing him to face her. “What if we’re wrong about this?”
“We’re not.”
Her voice cracked anyway. “Caden, I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“Swear to me,” she whispered. “Swear you’ll survive this.”
“I swear, my love.” His grin tilted, edged with some kind of careless amusement (which was reckless, in my opinion). “I swear on…well, definitely not my life since that would be rather counterproductive.”
“Fucking asshole,” she muttered before she smacked his arm.
“Correction,” he said smoothly. “Devastatingly handsome fucking asshole.” His brows kicked up, a glint of mischief cutting through the dark. “Don’t deprive me of my hard-earned titles, Nightcrawler.”
Emma didn’t take the bait. She bit the inside of her cheek instead, a small, familiar crack in her armor. The telltale sign she was worrying herself raw.
Caden’s smirk finally faded.
“Hey.” He leaned in, his tone dropping to something rougher, steadier, meant only for her. “Wifey.” The word slipped out half-tease, half-prayer. “You are my life. You’ve got me chained, heart, body, and soul. As long as you’re here, I’m here. Got it?”
Her lips trembled. “Pretty words don’t mean shit if you get yourself killed.”
“Such a romantic,” he chided, though his hand tightened around hers.
“Fuck, Caden, I’m serious!”
“So am I.” His smirk flared again. “And when we survive this—and we will—you’re finally taking me out for a proper dinner. With wine. Maybe flowers. Because gods know you’re a disaster at romance, and I deserve to be wined and dined. Just…don’t cook it yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t hide the quiver in her voice. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll survive this.”
“I promise.” He kissed her hard, lingering. When he pulled back, his grin turned dangerous. “Trust me. Trust my judgment. I’m annoyingly good at survival.”
Emma shuddered, as if fighting a shiver down her spine, but nodded. “Okay.”
The trees finally broke, and the world opened into a clearing that wasn’t a clearing at all.
It wascarnage.
The battlefield stretched wide, screams laced with the sound of ripping flesh and steel cutting bone. Limbs—actual limbs—lay scattered in the mud, torn bodies stacked in heaps so twisted I couldn’t tell friend from enemy. The stench of blood was thick, suffocating, clinging to the back of my throat.
Emma froze at the edge, her chest heaving as her eyes tried to take it all in.
