I scoffed. “Easy for you to say!”
She turned toward me, tilting her face up. The streaks of sunlight through the cypher branches highlighted just how bright the blues of her eyes were. For a minute, I got lost in them as she ran her hands up my chest, batting away my own from continuing to fiddle. I settled on her hips instead, dragging her a step closer. The silk tunic she had tucked into her leathers wascool. Calming. And the leather corset she wore over it cinched her waist, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we should just go back to the cottage we were renting. Try again tomorrow?—
“They’re going to love you,” Mila stated.
“How do you know that?” I challenged.
Her arms tightened behind my head, the smaller gold bracelets she swapped out for her usual cuffs clinking together, her scars visible. Spirits, I loved how open she was about them now.
She whispered, “Because I do.”
Mila loved me. She told me every day, and still I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. A love I’d come back from the dead for. Her along with all my friends and family, but especially her. Those two words that had been the ones that pushed me to dive into the Spirit Fire during the Undertaking.Look up.
The scar over my former North Star tattoo throbbed.
It had been her voice I’d heard when I swam through the flames—when they’d pulled me apart and shredded my being to test if I was worthy of returning. A part of me still doubted I was. Thought they must have heard her words echoing in my mind and got confused, thinking it was my own internal strength.
Whatever it was, I didn’t care. They brought me back to her, and I’d selfishly take it.
“I love you, too,” I whispered, ducking to kiss her.
Her hands tightened behind my neck, digging into my hair, and Mila pressed onto her toes. I slipped my arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet, wanting her as close as possible so I could get lost in her cinnamon and vanilla taste.
Unfortunately, that meant neither of us heard the boots pounding down the path until someone cleared their throat, and a second voice cheered, “Look at littleMila!”
Fuck. I immediately set her down, my heart plummeting to my stomach.
Unfazed, Mila laughed and launched herself at who I could only assume was one of her brothers. His hair was sandier to her platinum, but he had the same lightly tanned skin and bright eyes that squinted as he met her laughter.
Catching her, he whispered, “Hey, little warrior.”
“Not just warrior,” another voice said from behind these two as he approached, arms slung with woven grocery bags. “Our little sister is ageneral.”
He stopped beside the others, squeezing Mila to him despite the armful.
“It’s good to see you, Cor,” Mila whispered, tears in her eyes.
“Good to see you, too, little general.” Cor, the second oldest brother with dark brunette hair and pale blue eyes, kissed the top of Mila’s head. He exchanged a grin with the one who’d hugged her first, who I thought was Levi. The youngest of her older siblings, save the one whom they lost in the first war.
But it was the third brother—the one who hadn’t spoken beyond clearing his throat—that I stepped up to, holding out my hand. “Malakai Blastwood.”
This was Brennan. It had to be based on the platinum hair identical to his sister’s and the firm, judgmental set of his features. The oldest of the Lovall children and the one who—according to Mila—tended to be protective and hard to win over. He would be my biggest challenge of the day.
Greater even than her father, who apparently was a ferocious warrior but as soft as any in his retired age, or her mother, who Mila compared to a kitten. She’d be guarded at first, but doting once she trusted me.
Brennan, though. He was the one to crack.
He uncrossed his arms, gripping my hand tightly. Almost too tightly, but I didn’t grimace. I returned the strength and held eyecontact as the other three Lovalls studied us, curiosity bustling between them.
The air on the street seemed to still. Other families walked to and from the nearby market, calling hello to Mila at her return. This street was crowded with family residences—simple two-story homes with painted shutters and fences, flower and vegetable beds in yards littered with wooden swords and rope swings hanging from trees. A subtle breeze wound between the cypher branches dipping low on either side of the street, but even the rustling leaves hummed quieter than usual as Brennan assessed me.
Finally, he let go and nodded to his siblings. “Come on. Mother will need the groceries.”
“Yes, sir,” Cor joked with a mock solute.
Brennan marched ahead, ignoring him. Kissing my cheek, Mila whispered, “I’m going to go speak with him,” and took off after her eldest brother.
