Page 277 of Caged

Riven stares at me with his mouth parted in shock.

“Spare me the judgment. I’ve been spending the last two weeks trying to duct-tape this place together to keep it from falling apart.”

I take a long drag of my drink. “I know you think I’m too hard on the Omega… and maybe I am. But I’ve got two Bastards in Chicago, our Last Shield running everything on his own and delegating most shit to me, one packmate on life-support and the other turning everything into a circus act in a self-appointed attempt to keep me from spiraling.”

I pause, jaw tight. “Vae thinks I don’t see him watching her. I have to be hard on her because if I let up for one damn second, she’ll slip through the cracks, and Caelan will never get justice. We may never get the rest of the names on that list. Her father could walk away unscathed, or worse. She could sweet-talk her way into escaping. So yeah, I’m a fucking asshole. It’s⁠—”

“It’s the one thing you have control over,” Riven cuts in, proving how see-through my actions really are.

“Yeah,” I wince, rolling my glass between my palms. “And we all see how well that’s going.”

Riven hums low in his throat, fingers tapping a beat on the back of the couch. Finally, he faces me and very seriously says, “I’m sorry I punched you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Riven’s smile is a little bit feral. “No. I’m not. You have a very punchable face.”

I laugh. Somehow, it was exactly the right thing to say.

“Alright,” he slaps his palms on his thighs. “Let’s see what Nana Byrne had to say about ley lines.”

I spend the next half hour sipping my whiskey and watching the crackling fire. I can’t tear my gaze away from it tonight, drawn back to its beauty time and time again. There is something so untamed about fire. It is wild and free in a way that nothing else in this world is.

It is also one of the only ways to kill a vampire. Maybe that’s what makes it so beautiful, the fact that it is also so incredibly deadly.

“Oh fuck,” Riven’s gasp makes my gut knot with tension.

“What?”

“Nana Byrne is your new patron saint… because guess who just helped me crack the code about the Gate.”

I straighten. “What the hell do you mean?”

“This journal. She was tracking disturbances happening on ley lines all over Ireland.” He taps a finger on a page, then flips to another. “Said it was her duty to watch. To make sure nothing came over. But here…” he flips to one of the more recent pages and spins it around for me to see.

“Read what it says,” he encourages.

I narrow my eyes dubiously. “This better not be some ancient Blood Rite that will make it so I can only piss under a full moon.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can’t do Blood magic, you dramatic prick. Just read it.”

Knowing he has a point, even if he’s going to be dramatic about it, I do what he says.

“Granny always said to mark the lines. I use iron nails and set them at intersections, and lately the nails have been moving. Not by much, but enough to give me pause. Mam says these lines aren’t made by man. Not by vampire nor beast, neither. She says they’re meant to guide. Roads for the Folk to find their way back when the time’s right. Not before. I thought it was the lines that mark the way to the Veil. Mam says no. Says, ‘It’s a Gate, Bírd. And when it stirs, when the locks turn, they’ll reach across.’

I pray it doesn’t happen in my lifetime. I don’t know that I want to meet the Folk.

No matter, though. I’ll keep this record. I’ll mark it down and teach my daughter and her daughter, and on down the Byrne line—just like my mam’s mam did for her, and hers before that.

Even if it scares me.

Last night, Granny said something I can’t shake: “The Gate’s not a pattern. It’s a weaving. And if those threads start to fray and we’re not ready… gods help us all.”

I set the book down and lean back. The sense of unease in my gut deepens.

Unlike me, Riven is excited. There is a huge smile on his face that hasn’t faltered as I read, and he is damn near bouncing on his toes.

“Dax—”