Abel: A Sabine Valley Novel

by Robert, Katee

  Fuck that.

  I smooth back my hair and leave my room. As tempting as it is to go straight to the library, rushing in there isn’t going to put me in a position of power. Instead, I detour to the kitchen.

  Eli bought me a tea cart and tea set the first year we were together. It’s an old-fashioned tradition, but it’s always delighted me. Maybe because something about it calls to the little girl I used to be, the one who never had the opportunity for innocent fantasies about being a princess or having tea parties. I should have realized when Eli gave me this present that he’d never see me as an equal. He kept trying to give me back the innocence I never had the privilege of experiencing.

  That ship has long since sailed. I am who I am. I just wish he’d realized that before it was too late for us.

  I close my eyes, hating the burning behind my lids. I hate him and I love him and I’m simultaneously mourning the loss of our relationship and feeling trapped because there is no clean break for us.

  The teakettle whistles, signaling that it’s time to get back to reality. I take a slow breath and put together the cart. A careful ploy, and one that might backfire, but it’s the best move.

  A few minutes later, I muscle open the door to the library and push the cart through. A wave of noise stops me short. What the fuck?

  I take in the scene at a glance. Aisling’s daughters, Monroe and Winry, are sitting next to each other on the couch. Well, Winry’s sitting. Monroe is sprawled out like a jungle cat, all long limbs and dangerously sharp claws, barely sheathed. The Mystic’s youngest wife is perched on a nearby chair, her dark eyes wide in her sweet face. A muscled woman who screams bodyguard stands at her back. I vaguely remember her from last night.

  None of them are the source of the yelling.

  The Mystic’s heir, Fallon, is a tall, lean white woman with fire-engine red hair. She looks about half a second away from ripping something apart with her bare hands. Her half-brother, Matteo, has hints of red in his thick, wavy hair, but his skin tone is several shades darker than hers. Courtesy of the Mystic’s third wife’s darker coloring. He’s one of those guys who seems permanently stoned—from what I know about the Mystics, it’s entirely possible that it’s the truth—but he’s got his arm around his sister’s waist and is physically restraining her.

  The source of their anger?

  I stare at the woman standing in front of Jasper, the Amazon queen’s younger brother. I know her. Beatrix. The Mystic’s younger sister, and aunt to Fallon and Matteo. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask. She isn’t a Bride. In fact, she’s in a relationship with Jasper, who is a Bride.

  Oh shit, this is going to be trouble.

  I push the cart the rest of the way into the room and shut the door. I don’t even know how she got onto the compound, but I’m nearly certain she wasn’t here last night. Or at least she didn’t get into the trucks with us when we were transported from the amphitheater to the warehouse. I abandon my tea and march into the mix.

  I point at Fallon. “I don’t care how pissed you are, starting shit right now is a mistake.” Going the harsh route is a risk. The Mystic might rule with witchery and superstition and fear, but I’ve seen Fallon fight. She’s just as deadly as Monroe. Possibly more so, because she’s got one hell of a temper, and it gets the best of her often enough to make all her enemies wary.

  I hold her gaze, refusing to flinch at the promised violence in her eerie gray eyes. “What do you think the Paine brothers will do if you start stabbing people? Nothing good. Dial it back.”

  I turn to Beatrix. She’s got the same flaming red hair and pale gray eyes as her niece, though her features don’t look like they were carved out of ice. Right now, she’s leaning back against Jasper, and I can’t tell if it’s to stand between him and her niblings or because she needs his support. “What are you doing here?”

  She meets my gaze. “I’m here for Jasper.”

  That’s what I feared. Word is that she, Jasper Rhodius, and Ezekiel Paine used to be joined at the hip before the coup. An Amazon, a Mystic, and a Paine. It seemed to defy belief that their friendship would have lasted even without the Paine brothers being driven out of Sabine Valley, but she and Jasper have been together ever since. No wonder Ezekiel picked Jasper as his Bride. My chest aches for Beatrix, but her heartbreak changes nothing. The situation is what it is. We just have to make the best of it.

  I shake my head slowly. “He’s a Bride, Beatrix. The ceremony has happened; it’s been consummated. There’s no going back. If you take him, you’ll never make it out of the compound, and the entire city will turn against you.” Neither of their factions will be safe for them, not if he’s an oathbreaker and she’s the one who facilitated it.

  She lifts her chin, a stubborn glint in her eyes. “I’m not taking him anywhere. I’m staying with both of them.”

  Well, fuck me.

  I don’t drag my hand over my face, but it’s a near thing. This situation was already a mess, but it gets more nightmarish with each minute that passes. No matter what Abel thinks, I am only human, and he’s thrown me right into this pit of vipers.

  How the hell am I going to pull this off?

  14

  Abel

  My brothers filter into the room, one by one. Broderick and Gabriel look haggard as fuck, as if they spent the last twenty-four hours in the fight for their lives. Considering that their Brides are the heirs to the Amazons and Mystics, respectively, it’s no wonder. They can handle it, but I’m reassured all the same when they meet my gaze in turn and nod before dropping onto the couch across from me.

  Finnegan and Ezekiel come next. They’re twins, though not identical, and the tension coming from them both is enough to change the air in the room. Ezekiel, I get—his Bride is Jasper, who was once a good friend. I know all too well how a friendship soured can turn to poison on your tongue. I think my little brother hoped that he’d come back to some sort of explanation or at least protestation of innocence. Instead, Jasper and Beatrix have moved on without him. That shit stings.

  Donovan ducks into the room. He alone has a lazy kind of swagger that hasn’t been affected at all by us being back in Sabine Valley. He never takes anything seriously, so why would he start now? That said…

  I level a long look at him. “You let your Bride bring in a bodyguard.”

  He shrugs and grins. “She won’t be a problem.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “In fact, I do.” He sinks onto the arm of the couch next to Gabriel. “As I said last night, she’s loyal to my lovely Bride, not to Ciar.”

  “You don’t know that,” I repeat. “You can’t afford to take anything for granted. We’re the ones who pay the price if you fuck this up.”

  Donovan shakes his head. “Trust me on this. The only thing she cares about is Mabel’s safety. As long as I don’t endanger that, she’ll work with me.”

  Yeah, I don’t trust that shit, but it’s obvious that Donovan has made up his mind. With so many moving parts, I have to trust him, even if I don’t trust the bodyguard. “Fine. But she steps out of line, you’re accountable.”

  “Deal.” He drapes his arm over Gabriel’s shoulder and tugs on his hair.

  Cohen is the last to arrive. He looks the way he always does—intense. We all had our ways of dealing with exile. Donovan uses jokes to deflect tension. Broderick plans things down to their finest detail in an effort to exert control in an uncontrollable world. Cohen simply cuts down both problems and threats, often literally. Giving Winry to him was a risk, but she’s also the Bride least likely to inspire him to identify them as a problem needing to be fixed.

  Once they’re all seated, I begin. “We got through stage one. This is where the real work starts, because taking the faction was easy, but holding it will be significantly harder.”

  None of them say anything. We’ve gone over this plan a thousand times. I’m only repeating what we all already know. “You have to win your Brides over, at least enough t
o ensure good behavior. If they at least appear happy, it will make their factions hesitate to strike against us. They make good hostages, and the Bridal contract should be enough to ensure we have a year before things escalate, but we can’t take anything for granted. The Amazons and Mystics broke faith before; they might do it again.”

  Donovan gives a slow grin. “The entire floor heard how happy you made your little Bride this morning. Working fast with that one.”

  “Harlow is an asset, and she’s smart enough to realize it. We’re mutually aligned for the moment.” Something I hadn’t planned on, but I’m sure as fuck not going to let this opportunity pass.

  “And Eli?” This from Cohen. He stares at me intently. “How does he feel about how mutually aligned you are with his woman?”

  “She’s not his anymore. She’s mine.” There’s too much bite to my words, but if there’s one place I can be honest, it’s with my brothers. “Eli will serve his purpose as well. I’m leaving all of you but Cohen in the compound while we do this song and dance through Old Town. Cohen, pick a team. Three people. Any more and we look like we’re scared.”

  Cohen nods. “I’ll take Maddox and Shiloh.”

  At that, Broderick starts to life. “Not Shiloh.”

  “Shiloh is one of our best, and you know it. Stop trying to shelter her.”

  Broderick shakes his head. “No shit she’s one of the best. That’s not why she can’t go. Right now, she’s the only thing keeping Monroe in line. I can’t risk separating them for the time being.”

  I blink. “Shiloh is keeping Monroe in line.”

  “Yes.” He looks away, his jaw clenched tight. “Monroe has taken a shine to her.”

  Reluctant admiration filters through me. Monroe works fast, doesn’t she? It took her a single day to realize that Broderick is holding a flame for his best friend and turn it into a weapon against him. “Is this going to be a problem?”

  “I have it under control.”

  If anyone’s capable of it, it’s him. He’s the most even-keeled of us, the foundation that keeps us tethered when things go sideways. “Okay. Cohen, take Iris instead.”

  Cohen nods. “Will do.”

  “For the foreseeable future, patrols need to be double the size to avoid getting ambushed. Eli’s people are still out there, and I have no doubt that they’ll take any opportunity to attempt to stage a rescue. They’ll also be undermining us at every turn.” It will essentially be guerrilla warfare, but it’s unavoidable. We knew the stakes when we moved forward with this plan.

  Ezekiel clasps his hands loosely together between his knees. “I’ll get the schedules put together. What happens if the people decide to start pushing back when it comes to supplies and resources?”

  “They won’t. Harlow will ensure it.”

  He hesitates. “You seem awfully sure of her.”

  “I am.” If our situations were reversed, I’d be giving Ezekiel the same look he’s giving me right now. Hell, I just did it to Donovan. I don’t hold his doubt against him. But it changes nothing. Harlow and I are on the same page. “She’s taken a look around and realized that the only people who pay the price of war—civil or otherwise—are those who can least afford it. She cares about them, so she’ll do what it takes to smooth the transition. For their sake.”

  “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Cohen pushes to his feet. “If that’s all, we got shit to do.”

  “Yeah, that’s everything. Watch your backs.”

  “Always do.” He moves to the door and is gone, quickly followed by the others, until only Broderick remains. He obviously has something to say, so I sit there and wait for him to work up to it.

  He doesn’t make me wait long. Broderick drags his hand over his close-cropped dark hair. “We might have bit off more than we can chew with this.”

  “Monroe is just one woman.” A very dangerous, very volatile woman.

  He snorts. “Yeah, no shit. But we don’t just have Monroe. We have Fallon and Jasper and Matteo. Winry seems sweet as hell, but she’s still an Amazon. I can’t get a read on Mabel, despite the information we have on her, but the bodyguard worries me.”

  “Donovan says he has it under control.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I curse. “Look, this was the only way. We’ve gone over this.” Probably thousands of times at this point. “The Amazons and Mystics broke the peace. They gave people and resources to ensure the Paine family name disappeared off the face of the earth. If we tried to take back the faction without doing something to ensure their good behavior, they’d crush us just to get us out of the way. Having their people as Brides mean we can’t move overtly against them right now, either, but we planned on that.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  I push to my feet. “We make it work, Broderick. We’re committed. We have to see this through.” Our very survival depends on it.

  “I know. Fuck, I know.” He joins me on his feet. “You should see the way she looks at Shiloh, Abel. Like a tiger who’s got their eye on a nice, juicy steak.”

  “Shiloh can take care of herself.” That’s not what this is about, though. He knows that Shiloh is likely a match for Monroe—or he’d know it if his heart wasn’t all tangled up over her. It’s one of those unspoken things, though. He won’t thank me for calling him on it, but I can’t risk him being distracted when we need him most. “Just move on Shiloh like you’ve been wanting to do for years, and it’ll be a nonissue.”

  His mouth goes flat. “If we’re going to start handing out advice, maybe you want to talk about what the fuck you’re doing with Eli? Kill him, or fuck him, but if you flaunt fucking his woman under his nose long enough, he’s going to come for your throat.”

  I know. I plan on it. “Let me worry about Eli.”

  “Then let me worry about Shiloh.”

  He has me there. I hold up my hands. “It was just some friendly advice.”

  “Worry about yourself, asshole.” He turns for the door. “I’ll keep the compound locked down while you’re out today. If Harlow can really get supplies and shit lined up, I’ll need to talk to her soon to get that ironed out.”

  A strange possessive urge rises in me, a desire to keep Harlow away from everyone. I give myself a mental shake. It doesn’t make any sense to secret her away, no matter how much I enjoy her pussy. She’s an asset—a valuable one at that. Locking her away makes me no better than that fool Eli. I’m not a good man, but I’m sure as fuck smart enough to give Harlow a little lead and see what she’ll do. “I’ll send her your way tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  My next stop is Eli. I wait outside his door for several long moments, steadying myself. Dealing with him means icing him out, not giving him anything to use against me. It means wrapping my rage in chains and shoving it down deep. There will be plenty of time to torment him later; right now I need him to do what I want.

  I walk through the door without knocking. Eli is lying on the bed, his arms propped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He’s wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, his glasses, a pendant—and nothing else. His torso is more developed than when I saw him last, muscles clearly defined, and it’s also covered in an assortment of mottled bruises. He doesn’t look over as I close the door behind me. “Finished with Harlow?” There’s no bitterness in his tone. He sounds perfectly detached, as if he doesn’t care one way or another.

  He always was a little fucking liar.

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the door. “I’m not going to be finished with her anytime soon. You let her slip through your fingers, and she’s mine now.”

  “Is she?” He still doesn’t look at me, doesn’t change his tone at all. “That might be what you believe, but I wonder if it’s true.”

  I slap my responsive anger down. Thirty seconds, and he’s already digging around under my skin. Eli’s been off his stride since he lost that match yesterday, but apparently he’s taken the time to find it again. Unfortunate. He’s a hell of
a lot less dangerous when he’s reeling and all fucked in the head. I’ll have to be extra careful with him going forward. “You going to play nice, or we going to have to do this the hard way again?”

  He finally turns his head and looks at me. The asshole really is too pretty for his own good. Even bruised all to hell from our fight, he gives the impression of being fucking flawless. It’s irritating in the extreme. He gives a slow smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know we both prefer the hard way. It’s a wonder we never crossed that line before.”

  It doesn’t take much to make the conversational leap with him. Even after all the time apart, I still know exactly how his mind works. “We were friends first. Friends aren’t so common in this faction that I was willing to let fucking you get in the way of it.” I pause. “But then, it didn’t matter, did it? My father still died, choking on his own blood, and our people still burned in the house your people set aflame.”

  “I know you won’t believe me, but I had nothing to do with the fire.”

  “True or not, you sure as fuck benefited from their deaths.” I don’t move from the door, concentrating on holding my tension internally. “Harlow has decided to play nice in order to protect your faction’s people. Will you do the same?”

  “Would it matter?” He finally sits up, his ab muscles flexing with the movement.

  Fuck, I want to take a bite out of him, and I resent the hell out of my attraction. I’d never let it muddy the waters of my plan, but it’s inconvenient in the extreme. “It might.”

  He sits cross-legged on the bed, appearing to give me his full attention. “What does playing nice look like, Abel? Standing next to you while you go through the motions of leading, despite the fact that the people don’t want you here? Does it mean fucking you? Playing Bride in truth? Explain it to me.”