Ed had lost his brother and his Variant. My chest felt too tight to breathe at the mere thought of losing one of my Bondmates. I couldn’t imagine the pain he felt.
As Josh righted some more mismatched chairs with his ability, I paused at what used to be a bar. Half of it was disintegrated, still smoldering from Ethan’s fire, and glass covered every surface. My attention snagged on a few bottles that had miraculously survived the violence. Just as we had.
I stepped past the debris to reach them. Two were some kind of liqueur that looked like it contained more sugar than alcohol. I grabbed the third, a bottle of tequila.
Alec searched the cupboards and found a tray of glasses.
Everyone settled into chairs and stared into nothing, trying to process in their own way. I stood at the table and looked around at all the people I hadn’t lost. I looked at each one of them in turn and thanked the Light they were still here, still breathing, still living and loving . . . and grieving.
As I opened the bottle, I turned my thoughts to those I’d lost. I poured a bit into each glass and then lifted one.
“To Nina.” I slammed it back and immediately reached for the bottle again.
Everyone else watched me, either with blank expressions or as if I were crazy. Then Ethan reached forward and grabbed a glass.
“To Nina.” He downed it. Slowly, one by one, they all reached for glasses and toasted the Lighthunter.
I refilled them and raised mine again.
“To Jamie.”
We drank. Dot had to take a few deep breaths before she could down the strong alcohol.
We toasted Ed’s brother next, then name after name as we remembered the fallen.
As I poured the last drops of the bottle into the last glass, Tyler stood and raised his.
“To everyone we’ve lost. Their deaths will not be in vain. We will fight to make this world a better place.”
As one, we drank.
As I dropped the glass back to the table, I swayed a little. I wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion, the alcohol, or a combination of the two, but just like always, my Bond was there to catch me.
Ethan pulled me into his lap, and I relaxed into his embrace.
Everyone fell into silence. All the injured had been tended to or taken away to hospitals. Those who hadn’t needed medical attention had left. Where had they gone? What do people do after an epic battle? Just . . . go home? Have a shower and go to bed?
I could use a shower, and my body already seemed to be shutting down, ready for oblivion. But I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to sleep—if I’d be able to close my eyes without seeing crimson.
Ethan’s booming voice broke the silence. “Can’t believe he called you ‘the fruit of his loins.’ Who the fuck talks like that?”
For a beat, everyone remained silent. And then we all burst into laughter. We laughed for a solid minute, bent over the table, wiping tears of both mirth and grief from the corners of our eyes.
It was exactly what we needed to break some of the thick tension. As our laughter receded, we slowly got up and started making our way home.
Thirty-Three
I stood at the foot of my bed in my underwear, my hair falling down my back in waves, my makeup done, staring at what I’d decided to wear.
It was only a dress, but this felt important, momentous even.
The black fabric and bright poppy prints contrasted starkly with the creamy white linen sheets.
I ran my hand reverently over my mother’s dress, the only piece of her I had left. I’d saved it like the precious artifact it was, hardly even touching it where it hung in my closet for over two years.
It was time to honor her memory by wearing it. It was time to remember all the times I’d seen her in it, smiling and happy. It was time to remember all the good and, instead of feeling sad about what we’d lost, feel happy about all we had to look forward to.
It was what she fought for—my future.
I slipped the dress over my head and did up the zip on the side. It was a little loose around the middle, but the top fit perfectly, and the understated A-line shape reached just below the knee. I remembered us being the same height, but I was sure it used to reach midcalf on her.