Quinlan had planned for the pain. He had planned for the hours, for the cauldron’s appetite, for the slow indignity of being emptied one drop at a time into Naomi’s warm copper, and on every one of those counts the plan was holding.
What he had not planned for was the family living in his chest.
The Bloodfather bond never slept. Every kill his women made whispered through it, every flare of their gifts pulsed against his sternum, and the current ran both ways. For six hours now, the strongest signature in the whole network had been quietly, steadily draining, and across half a continent, on skin he had marked with his own blood, crimson sigils were beginning to burn.
Blossom arrived first.
">
"> The shout hit the inside of his skull hard enough that both Elite healers paused mid-cast.
Quinlan chuckled. "> Quinlan chuckled.
Vex’s voice slid in underneath, low and sweet and pletely wrong, the register she saved for moments when she was already holding her sword. "> Vex’s voice slid in underneath, low and sweet and pletely wrong, the register she saved for moments when she was already holding her sword.
Ayame, crisp as a drawn blade. "> Ayame, crisp as a drawn blade.
Sera cut in. "> Sera cut in.
As the rest of the gang made their opinions heard, Aurora winced.
"...Why are they both making those faces?" Gideon whispered, glancing between Aurora and Quinlan.
"Eyes on your reduction, dear," Naomi said.
"> Aurora set down her pen, pressed two fingers to her temple, and joined the channel with the audible patience of the family’s only scientist.
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