Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(104)

“Unfortunately,” I grumble.

“Oh, Rowan—”

“Don’t give him any sympathy, Lark. Pity makes him even more insufferable, the feckin’ twat.”

“But look at him. He’s all sad and horny.”

“Literally,” Sloane interjects, whacking one of my yellow horns as she heads toward the porch to give Lark a hug. “Also permanently green.”

“We need to talk more about ‘permanent,’ Sloane,” I say as I grab our bags and the moonshine and then follow after her, my dragon tail swishing across the gravel behind me. When Lachlan groans and runs a hand down his face, I exaggerate the sway of my hips just to annoy him.

“We’ve talked about it plenty.” Though Sloane doesn’t turn my way, I can almost hear her eyes roll. “Talk about it with your brother.”

“Eyeball Spider Lady,” Lachlan says as he wraps Sloane in a hug, “how do you tolerate that pain in the arse?”

“He usually makes up for it in other ways.” With a kiss on Lachlan’s cheek, she lets him go and joins Lark’s side. The two link arms to share a flurry of whispers, probably about whatever it was Sloane actually discovered at the barn. They head inside as I climb the porch steps to stop in front of my older brother.

“Give us a kiss, asshat.” Before he can get away, I wrap Lachlan in a bear hug and plant a smear of a green kiss against his cheek, one of my scales falling off in the process.

“Gobshite.”

“Bellend.”

When I let him go, Lachlan still can’t help himself. He lays his hand on either side of my head and presses his forehead to mine. “You’re still a reckless little shit,” Lachlan says, and though he tries to look serious, the glimmer in his eyes gives away his amusement. “But I still love you.”

“Love you too.”

With a clap to the side of my head, Lachlan grins and lets me go to pick up one of my bags and the bottle of moonshine, examining it with a furrowed brow. “What the fuck is this?”

“Homemade whiskey, apparently.”

“Christ Jesus.”

“Sloane found it at a barn dance in Linsmore. And judging by the way those two are conspiring, that’s not the only thing she found.” When I nod toward the two women whispering in the kitchen as they open a bottle of red wine, Lachlan follows my gaze and groans. “I think she’s got a jump on us for the game.”

“Well, I might have an idea or two myself.”

“I thought Conor wasn’t going to give you extra clues. Sloane will be so pissed if he is.”

“You bellend,” Lachlan says with an eye roll, keeping his distance from the two women as they head toward the living room with their glasses. When he seems to think they’re safely out of earshot, we take their place in the kitchen, and he cracks open the moonshine. “I am capable of doing my own research. And I promised the eyeball spider lady I wouldn’t mine Conor for information. I’ve seen what’s involved in eyeball removal. I don’t want her to make good on that threat,” he says with a shudder before he pours a glass and slides it across the counter of the island. “Trust me.”

Lachlan raises his glass in a silent toast and I do the same, and then we take a sip of the golden liquid. It burns my throat as it slides down to my stomach, where I’m pretty sure it’ll eat through my guts. “Fuck, that is atrocious.”

“Are you sure it’s not battery acid?”

“No. I’m not sure at all. Though it’s not going to stop me from drinking enough to serenade you.”

“I think it might kill us both before that happens,” Lachlan says as we both suffer through another sip.

“So you said you have information?” I say in a conspiratorial whisper as I lean closer across the island. “What kind of information?”

“Yeah, Man-guy,” a chipper voice says from right behind me just as I take another drink of moonshine that shoots up my nose and spurts past my lips in a spray that hits Lachlan right on the shirt. “I want to know too, what kind of information?”

I spin around to the sound of Lachlan’s “Christ Jesus” and the combined squeals of Sloane and Lark. The little banshee grins up at me, her dark eyes sparkling. She sets down a pissed-off-looking raccoon of all fucking things, though somehow, that tracks. “Rose, fucking hell. You scared the shit out of me.” I move to give her a hug but she backs up a step, her hands raised.

“Whoa, now. That’s a situation you’ve got there. You look like you’re starring in the busted version of Wicked.” She leans forward and pats my arm. “A for effort. Or … something.”

Though I hear Sloane snort from the living room, it’s my older brother’s voice that seems to echo in my mind.

“Rose …?”

Rose and I exchange a fleeting smile before I turn to look at Lachlan. I’ve never seen this expression on his face before, his brow furrowed, his eyes taking on a glassy sheen.

“Hi, Lachlan.”

Lachlan takes a few slow steps around the end of the island, steps that quicken until he’s rushing to embrace Rose, that shocked hope and guilt still etched into his face until he pulls his glasses off and wipes his eyes. They exchange whispers, things only the two of them are meant to hear, but words I catch anyway. Words about regret and choices. About time and promises. About how some vows are never meant to be made, because they are not in our hands to keep.