Chapter Fourteen

HE DRESSES FOR the occasion. Stylish white chinos paired with a sharp, richly textured charcoal houndstooth jacket over a deeply V-necked sable T-shirt that—as Nate had suspected—cost well over a hundred dollars. He’s aiming for effortlessly elegant, breaking a few fashion rules with style, and Ravi’s always had excellent aim. Cayenne will appreciate it.

Even so carefully attired, he feels naked being unarmed. Heart tripping a mad drumbeat in his ribcage, Ravi approaches the apartment. He tries the knob: unlocked. Before going in, he rests his forehead against the door. One last chance to change his mind. To think of any other way.

Finally, Ravi squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, and walks in.

He hears them before he sees them; their soft, indrawn breath. Their shape silhouetted against the far doorway. Ravi flips on the light.

A vision in sheer black silk and crimson leather, Cayenne has painted their eyes in purples and grays—monsoon colors. Tight leather pants hug every curve and angle, juxtaposed by the billowing midnight cuffs of their shirt, and overtop is a stunningly fitted corset that outlines their slender frame to perfection. Copper hair uncharacteristically slicked back, letting their sharp-edged bone structure take center stage. They look him up and down with a dangerous, bladed smirk.

Ravi’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

“Well,” Cayenne begins, tone sultry. They stop, throat visibly jumping as they swallow. A little of their artful pose slips. “Alone at last, oui?”

Ravi walks toward them slowly, hands non-threatening at his sides. “Cayenne,” he says, desire lacing the edges of his anger, a thin, reedy undercurrent of want.

Their verdant eyes widen, but Cayenne doesn’t move away as Ravi nears. “Well, mon amour, here I am,” they say with hands spread wide. “See what an obedient little pepper I—”

They gasp as he crosses the last bit of distance in a quick, skillful dart, their hands rising for their tattoo. But Ravi makes no other sudden moves, stopping only inches away. The scent of their spiced cologne hits his nose, intoxicatingly thick. Cayenne lets their hands fall as they stare up at him with lips parted, moon-pale and eyes wide.

Ravi slides a brazen palm over the leather of their scarlet corset and rests it at the cinch of their narrow waist. Cayenne’s breath skips.

“Cay,” he husks, voice low. “You said it would be fun to be a member of our little team. Now’s your chance.”

They shiver, even through an incredulous roll of their eyes. “Oh, of course,” Cayenne laughs. “I just throw in my lot with your merry little band, help you fix your terrible Trust, and no one will object? Why do I doubt that, I wonder?” Their hand rests, seemingly absently, over where Ravi’s jacket normally conceals his gun and finds nothing but his ribs, moving with unsteady breaths. Cayenne’s eyebrows fly up. “Besides,” they continue, a little crease appearing on their forehead, “you’re the hero, not me, darling.”

“It can be like it was between us.”

Cayenne jolts under his hand as if he’s struck them, their elegant fingers curling on his lapels. Their tongue sweeps out in a quick pink flash and their gaze flicks from Ravi’s eyes to his lips. “I… Quoi? Do you…” They drag in a ragged breath. “Do you mean that?”

Ravi leans in closer, close enough for his breath to brush their ear. “I mean it.”

The laugh Cayenne digs up is a small, broken thing. They set a hand to the bare skin framed by the sharp neckline of Ravi’s shirt, the touch branding hot on his chest. “I really am a monster. I’ve taught an honest man to lie.”

“I’m a monster-hunting secret agent in a world that doesn’t believe in the supernatural. I’ve spent my whole life hiding who I really am. I’ve always been a good liar, Cayenne.”

“Hmm. Maybe so,” they murmur, eyes bottomless emerald and lined with kohl.

“This is an interesting look,” Ravi says, voice acquiring a deep burr as he splays his fingers wide over their corset. It feels warm and taut under his hand, almost like living skin.

“Oh, this old thing? Do you like it?”

“I do,” he confesses.

Cayenne smiles, the tip of their tongue touching their teeth. “I thought I’d really lean into the whole villain aesthetic, since you were so adamant of my clichéd role in our little disagreement.”

“‘Little disagreement’?” Careful. Keep your shit together.

Like dropping a costume, Cayenne trades their arch tone in for sincerity. “Listen to me, Ravi. I know you think you want to take over The Trust, want to lead it, but you can’t. Please listen, for once. You can’t do it. I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” They cluck their tongue in annoyance. “If you’d stop being so stubborn, The Trust would already be rubble. We could be together. Really together, not whatever video game team-up fantasy you’ve devised here to offer me. It would all be over already, and it’d be perfect.”

They take his face between their hands, smoky eyelids catching pinpricks of light like mica dust. “I knew you’d come back to me, my beautiful, broken boy. We were hurt in so many of the same ways, we understand each other the way no one else possibly could. There’s no one else in the world for either of us. I understand that strange times call for stranger bedfellows. I don’t hold that against you.” They smirk and step closer, the heat of their breath on Ravi’s lips. He wishes they would kiss him already.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Cayenne sweeps both thumbs over the planes of his jaw. “Oui.”

“Why this body? This face?” Ravi walks forward, steering Cayenne until their back hits the wall. He cages them in with his body, hands on either side of their head, and tilts his head to one side, letting his hair tumble into his eyes. “When you got the idol.”

As their shoulders press flat, Cayenne breathes out unsteadily, pulse ticking in their throat. “You saw what I looked like before.”

“I did. Why change?”

A pleased smile, genuine and without artifice, takes over their face. “You’re so silly, darling. I had the opportunity to look how I’ve always wanted to look. How could I not take it?” They drape their arms over his shoulders and trail their fingers up into his hair. His skin prickles under the brush of their nails. “Who wouldn’t do such a thing? Well. Perhaps you, mon beau. Can’t improve on perfection, can you?”

They grin dazzlingly wide. Cayenne treats the wall as if it were the finest feather mattress, reclining back with their hips canted forward so they very nearly fall flush with Ravi’s. “And if I’m being honest, which will be a fun little irony, I also did it because of you. If I’d have known you had no objections to my original body, frightfully dull as it was, I might have left well enough alone. Using that damn idol hurt, the fucking thing. Believe me, I am not keen to repeat that particular trick, as fun as it would be to shift around the gender spectrum.”

Ravi drifts closer, only inches apart. “You didn’t need to change yourself. To get me to want you.”

He slides the pad of his thumb over Cayenne’s full lower lip, tugs it lightly down. Cayenne’s pupils expand, green swallowed by black. Their tongue darts out to wet reddened lips, brushing his thumb.

“Ravi,” they whisper. “Please.”

Ravi crowds in and kisses them, fisting both hands in their hair to hold them still for the demanding press of his mouth. Cayenne melts against him with a gasp, tonguing at the seam of his lips.

After far too long, Ravi pulls back, and Cayanne grins triumphantly, licking their lips. “C’est ça, mon coeur, no need to be nervous. See? No tricks. Just us.” They push away from the wall and hold up their hands, waggling their fingers.

Then Cayenne blinks, swaying in place.

Ravi waits.

Cayenne takes a step and stumbles, features knotting in confusion. Then their eyes fly open wide. They press a hand to their lips. “Oh, well done,” they exclaim, bracing themself on his chest, and their knees give out. Ravi catches them by the arm and holds them upright.

Nix venom is even rarer than basilisk—rarer now that Ravi had ensured the world has one less nix in it, though Calvin Guinto hadn’t known that detail when he’d sold Ravi the few precious drops of poison. Hardly a week ago, Ravi had been utterly, steadfastly certain he would never ever use the stuff, intent on consigning even the memory of the best way to trap a chronomancer into oblivion, to ensure The Trust would never capture Cayenne and set the whole cycle spinning.

But he’d bought it anyway. Guess all the tutoring on strategy and precaution had been too ingrained to shake off. Ravi spits on his jacket sleeve, scrubbing at his lips until only the barrier compound remains.

Looks like he’s a good liar and a good secret agent, after all.

Sagging in his arms, Cayenne snarls a weak laugh. “I’m truly impressed, my ravageur.” Under their honesty peeks a flash of betrayal, fury underlying their words as bones jut through dried skin.

Ravi holds himself steady against it, against his own self-loathing. This is the price he has to pay. A sacrifice of himself, his ideals and morals. Small things, really, when weighed against stopping the next apocalypse.

Already slow and sluggish, Cayenne tries to squirm away, ducking low under Ravi’s arm. Easy enough to counter, spinning them around and goose-necking an arm behind their back. He pulls a metal cuff from inside his jacket pocket and secures it with a snap around one narrow wrist.

“Darling, if you wanted me in handcuffs, all you had to do was say so,” Cayenne slurs. They lean their body against his, then explode into movement, twisting and clawing and spitting like a wildcat. A brief struggle only; they’re disoriented and likely hallucinating, going for Ravi’s vulnerable spots with open savagery.

Ravi takes a few hits and scratches with only a mild grunt, dragging Cayenne to the small kitchenette. He maneuvers them down to the floor and attaches the handcuff’s mate to the heavy frame of the fridge.

Cayenne laughs, tilting up a disturbing grin while Ravi pulls out a second set of cuffs. “You know, it’s funny, mon amour.”

“What is?”

They lick their poisoned lips again, as if relishing the taste of his treachery. “It’s going to be so gratifying for me when everything’s finally done, my pet. When you’re all mine again.” Their head lolls back against the fridge door. Their focus fades in and out, disorientation battling with lucidity. “Such extra fun to have my way with you when you won’t even remember this little scuffle. It won’t have happened for you. I’ll have to handcuff you, my sweet, won’t that be très amusant? Oh, mon tigre, how deliciously duplicitous of you. Guess I have taught you a thing or two. My good, noble knight, so honest and true. See, we are perfect for each other.”

Ravi tries not to flinch.

“You know what, my ravageur? I’m not sorry for any of it. I’ll do it all again harder next time. Family just holds you back. You should be thanking me. I did you a favor.”

Ravi cuffs Cayenne’s other arm to the opposite side of the heavy fridge despite their attempts to wriggle free, leaving no chance for them to manipulate their tattoo. Won’t matter much when the venom fades enough for Cayenne to slip their consciousness back to their past self, but that should be hours off. Hopefully not until morning.

“What are you going to do with me now, hero? Hmm? Call up your avenging angel? Lock me up and throw away the key? Planning to gun me down, my love?”

Ravi steps back, impassive, giving nothing away. Cayenne grins before fading into some hallucination, muttering in a soup of languages while peering into nothing. Ravi reaches into his pocket and slips on the black titanium ring. The memory wipe has been pre-set to erase everything from the present all the way back to before the future-Trust took Cayenne into captivity, well before they swore revenge.

The most difficult part of planning this strategy had been mapping out Cayenne’s timeline, figuring out how many months before their meeting in Chicago would need to be forgotten. But Cayenne has dropped enough little hints along the way for Ravi to piece together. He’s no intel agent, but he can follow a trail as well as any hunter.

All the ring needs is to be set spinning while pointing at Cayenne. A dangerously easy weapon to wield. A black bit of magic, Constance had proclaimed.

Surely this is something like mercy—even a kindness—erasing the memory of being taken prisoner, of being…tortured. Undoubtedly Cayenne will be confused about the lost time, but they’d have no reason not to go back to living their carefree, hedonistic life, tripping through the timeline as they please. Memories reset to before they knew about The Trust, or the Abhiramnews, or the team: before Ravi. They wouldn’t remember meeting him. Loving him. Betraying him.

That’s mercy, isn’t it?

It will only take a moment. He can’t be indecisive. Cayenne threatens to topple everything his ancestors worked for, everything centuries of sacrifice has built. This is for his legacy. For his friends. His future. Intentionally or not, Ravi started this mess. It’s up to him to finish it. It doesn’t matter that this is someone he used to love, the only person who’s ever loved him. It doesn’t matter that it’s dark magic, the very thing he’s sworn to guard against. Don’t the ends justify the means?

He hears the echo of his aunt. Do you imagine that we are above using any means to keep the world safe?

He’s come this far. No backing down.

Is this what his ancestors would have wanted for him? Would they still be proud of him?

How do you stand?

Unflinching.

He lowers his arm. “Fuck,” he hisses, furious with himself.

Blearily, Cayenne blinks up. “’Allo, beau gosse! D’où viens-tu?” Then they shake their head as if clearing cobwebs. “Ah, did it work, then?”

“Did…what work?”

“Wiping out The Trust, my sexy samosa!” Their pupils are tiny black pinpricks. “It’s a crazy plan, but c’est la vie, non? Talk about strange bedfellows. Besides, if it goes sideways, I can just rewind and try again. Pas de mal.” They look down at their bound wrists with a perplexed frown. “Did I do something fun last night?”

Ravi’s attention laser-focuses in. “What is this crazy plan?”

They pull weakly at the cuffs, muttering in French. He crouches down in front of them and cups their chin in his hand, making them meet his eyes. “Cayenne. What are you planning?”

“Cayenne? Un voyage en ville? Nous étions récemment.” Then they blink, lucidity crystallizing again for a moment. Suddenly Cayenne arches backward with a shocked, pained gasp, mouth and eyes open wide, tearing out of Ravi’s gentle touch and convulsing hard against the fridge.

Heart in his throat, Ravi shields the back of their skull with his hand, keeping them upright. Has he misjudged the venom? What has he done?

Panting, Cayenne looks at him, hair at their temples rust-dark with sweat. Their slow smile is an agonized rictus, a terrible thing to behold. “Isn’t…that…interesting,” they choke out with difficulty, then crane their neck to snatch a glimpse at Ravi’s wristwatch. Then as suddenly as a marionette with its strings cut, they droop in his arms with a gasp of relief. “That was bracing,” Cayenne says with a fragile laugh, shaking like a leaf.

A terrible suspicion begins to take shape. Ravi pulls away. Despite their clammy pallor, their drugged gaze, and their wrists restrained, the grin Cayenne wears is one of undisguised triumph.

Then Ravi hears the screams.

He whips around. Outside the apartment window orange light flickers, and far off in the distance, sirens begin to wail.

“What did you do?”

“What will I do, my sweet.” Cayenne grins, visibly keeping the drug at bay and hanging on to consciousness tooth and nail. “No idea, but no doubt something very villainous, knowing me. I’ll bet you can still save some innocent bystanders if you act quickly.” They settle in against the fridge door, stretching their long legs out on the linoleum with one ankle kicked up over the other, looking for all the world like there’s no place they’d rather be. Cayenne winks. “Better run, hero. I’ll be seeing you.”

*

RAVI LIMPS HIS way into Constance’s shop. Griswold, fur standing on end as he bounds down the stairs to confront the intruder, takes one look at him and yowls, “Mistress! Thine companion has met an injurious calamity and needs thy healing!”

“Thanks, Griz,” Ravi mutters, throwing himself into a nearby chair as the sound of boots comes clomping down the wooden stairs.

“God’s blood, Ravi!” Immediately, Constance is on him, hands gentle at his jawbone as she inspects him head to toe. “What happened?” She kneels and pushes up the burned tatters of his trousers, everything below the knee now more ash than fabric. She prods at his raw shins. “Myrtle and arnica,” she calls over her shoulder, and Griswold darts off like a shot.

“Fought a hellhound,” he says shortly then sags into the chair, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

She stares at him while her hands busily unravel gauze and uncork bottles. “Oh, is that all? Hardly a busy night, then.” She holds out her hand as Griswold trots up and drops a few sprigs of plants in her palm.

“Saved some people,” he says morosely, as if that could make up for his actions putting those people in danger in the first place. Stupid. How could he have thought that he, just a guy with good aim, could outmaneuver someone who had destroyed dozens of ancient vampires on a whim? Fucking hubris, pure and simple. He coughs, lungs still smoky.

“Whyever did you not call for any of us?” Constance demands, sweeping hair out of her face before attending to the plethora of scratches and burns on Ravi’s wrists and hands, spreading on a green paste.

He sighs with relief as the pain fades. Having his hands impaired makes him less effective in a fight, hampering his reaction time. “Thank you.”

“Save your bloody thanks and answer my question, witch-hunter.”

He looks away. “I tried the same thing you did.”

She kneels up to carefully pluck out wooden splinters embedded in his cheek. “You shall have to be more specific.”

“I tried to control the battlefield. Meet my enemy on even ground.”

Her hands pause for a beat before she continues, pressing a soaked square of gauze against his face. He ignores the sting. “Thou attempted to take on the time wizard by thyself?”

“I did.”

She adopts a matronly tone. “And how did that go?”

“Not well.”

“You shock me, my good fellow.” She guides him to hold the gauze in place while she fixes her attention back to his legs. “Breath of hellhound?” When he nods, Constance drums her fingers against her chin in thought before slapping together a few ingredients from her satchel. “How did that red-capped whitlow get a hold of a hellhound?”

“That’s…an excellent question. Could have found reports of one either in history or the future and just tossed it through time.”

“Aye, that could be.” Constance concentrates on her work for a few minutes, drawing a cleansing cloth over raw skin. Ravi tries to keep still. “So, your endeavor to face thine nemesis went about as well as mine.”

“Worse.”

“True! But the only reason my situation did not go utterly tits-up is because the team came and helped me.” She angles up a stern brow. “I should have asked for help from the start, and so should you. We are as the many twigs.”

Ravi wonders if he’d struck his head harder than he thought. “Twigs?”

“If you try to snap a twig, this is done easily. If you try to snap many twigs all held together, they do not even bend.”

“Ah, an idiom. These days we say, ‘united we stand, divided we fall.’”

“Oh. Yes, that is much catchier.” She gestures to Griswold, and he moves to her side and sits primly with his striped tail wrapped around his front paws. Constance sets one hand on his head while the other hovers over Ravi’s wounds. Griswold’s yellow eyes close, his loud purr filling the space. A warm energy tingles outward from Constance’s fingers and into Ravi’s leg. “Do you wish to tell me what happened?”

Ravi hesitates, then sighs. “I set a trap. Had them cornered. I had the opportunity to…to take them out of the fight.” Constance’s eyes snap up to his. “Not kill them,” he says quickly, queasy at the mere thought. Even with everything on the line, he couldn’t ever bring himself to commit violence against Cayenne.

Fuck, they’d really picked the perfect mark with him.

“I…I couldn’t do it. I didn’t take the shot. They got the better of me. At some point in their future, they come back and set a hellhound loose in the apartment across the street to draw me away.” He drops the gauze to rake a hand through his hair, dislodging flakes of char. “When I came back, of course they’d escaped.”

He’s not sure how Cayenne managed to snap the handcuff chains on their own while drugged on nix venom, but as Constance has pointed out, there were any number of ways a chronomage could accomplish nearly anything.

Constance hums sympathy, moving her magical ministrations to his other leg. “There is one other great difference between your enemy and mine. I never loved that wretched demon—repulsive, even the thought—and would feel no conflict of heart should he perish.”

Shoulders slumping, Ravi whispers hoarsely, “Yeah.”

Constance sits back on her haunches and gives Griswold a hearty scratch around the ears before he trots off. She eyes her work with satisfaction. “Thou shalt be unmarked in another few moments, save for some singed hair. I hath channeled a fair bit of healing magics into you, and thou art a quick healer by nature.” She gathers up bits of cloth and recaps jars before standing up with a brisk clap of her hands. “Now, then. Are we in imminent danger of retaliation, do you think?”

It takes a moment to drag his scattered thoughts together, forcing them to fall into orderly ranks. “I don’t think so. If I were them, I’d go off and lick my wounds while planning a large, decisive strike at the most advantageous possible moment.”

“Then we shall be on our guard and be ready for anything.” Constance sits on a nearby chair and smiles at him. “Nothing has changed then, really.”

He smiles wanly back.

Her pleasant smile fades to concern. “How are you doing with all this?”

“I’m fine.”

Constance rolls her eyes so emphatically her eyelashes flutter. “Oh aye, of course, fine. Fine must mean something different than it did in my time.”

He runs tentative fingers over his cheek, finding no remaining abrasions. “Thanks, Constance. For the healing.”

She brushes off his gratitude with a wave and a smile. “A witch must always be helpful.” The words have the weight of an oft-repeated phrase.

“What’s that from?”

Her hazel eyes slide off him as her smile fades. “Lessons learned at my parents’ knees.”

Ravi rubs soot from his lapels in vain, only managing to work it deeper into the houndstooth pattern. “Lessons on how to be a witch?”

“Of a sort.” Constance tips her head back against her chair until she’s gazing up at the ceiling and recites, “A witch must always be helpful. A witch is unarmed without a smile. A witch must always have a knife handy and hidden. A witch must always keep her boots on.”

No reason for that last one unless a witch had to always be ready to run. “Lessons on how to survive being a witch.”

She turns toward him in surprise. “Aye. Yes. I admit I had not expected you to see the truth of it.”

“Not too different from some things my tutors have said,” Ravi sighs, suddenly wearier than he can ever remember being. He wishes he were in bed; preferably Nate’s bed, which is softer and has the added bonus of Nate being in it.

He attempts a sympathetic smile and is glad when Constance returns it. It’s not her usual broad, disarming grin, but something smaller and more delicate. Maybe it’s even the real thing. “Did you and Harry learn anything useful from James?”

Constance perks up. “Indeed we did! I discovered he is quite enamored of me.”

“Uh, yeah. Already knew that.”

“You did?” Constance goggles at him. “’Twas a surprise to me. Anyroad, I spent a very pleasant night tumbling him into a state of near stupor. He is quite interesting when you scratch the surface. Eager to please. Takes direction well.”

Ravi’s ears blaze hot. “Constance!”

“What? He can’t be in our time overmuch or it causes some-such ‘causality problems.’ A beneficial situation for me, I don’t mind telling you. I had a merry time, but I can’t abide lovers who are constantly underfoot, demanding the whole of my attention. I’m a busy witch with diverse interests.”

Ravi coughs into his fist. “Hey, uh. Harry had…a talk with you, right? About…” he fights through embarrassment to mumble, “about safe sex?”

“Hm? Oh, aye! Worry not, ’twas quite safe. I only fell off once.”

Mortified, Ravi pinches the bridge of his nose, grappling for a change of subject. “Did you learn anything useful to the team?”

“Oh, oh. Also, yes. He’s nothing to do with abetting or ruining Cayenne’s plots. They are acquaintances at best, from vastly different eras, only meeting when it suits Cayenne’s rare whim. Likewise, he is ignorant of the circumstances surrounding the urumi, only vaguely aware of the Chosen and The Trust beyond knowing to stay off their—the whatsit. Thingy. Radar, that’s the word. Harry was able to extract a great deal from the man he did not realize he let slip. My niece is very clever,” she says with pride.

“Extremely,” Ravi agrees. “So, it’s still a mystery who sent Harry that package.” The only useful information they’ve obtained is that they still don’t have any useful information. He sighs. “Is James going to stick around and help us out?”

“He’s already left, back to his far-flung time. He’s much more mindful of changing things, this time traveler. He almost stepped on an anthill, and I swear I saw him spring out with sweat.”

“Great, so he’s no help. Is there anything we can use?”

“Only an interesting time travel fact, perhaps. It seems those who manipulate the timeline will still carry the memory of the no-longer-viable timeline. James said otherwise, time travelers would continue making the same loop over and over, endlessly trying to achieve an impossible goal, wearing a hole in space and time. He said something about a ‘probability matrix’ imploding.”

“Doesn’t sound ideal.”

“Exceedingly so, it would seem. He also called Cayenne ‘that selfish chaos gremlin,’ which I found rather amusing.”

“Not exactly helpful to us.”

Constance shrugs, idly playing the end of a braid against her palm like a paintbrush. “Sadly, we still fight in shadow. But take heart, mine friend. It takes but a single spark, and the darkness is no more.”

After a moment, Ravi returns her encouraging smile. “Yeah.”

“Speaking of sparks,” she says slyly. “What flame is kindling between you and our favorite man of letters?”

“That’s…” Heat floods his cheeks. “Nate and I are…spending some time together, yes.”

Constance leans over to pat his arm. “Excellent. You’re good for each other.”

“Look, it’s not… I’m not ready to…”

“Harken to me, Ravi. Nathan is a good person, through and through. Kind. Compassionate. Gallant. And, it must be said, very fair of form.”

“I…know all that.”

“Well, then. Should you cleave to him, your swain would sooner throw himself off a parapet than hurt you.”

He shoots her a glare. “Would you stop matchmaking? It is what it is. Pretty sure being fresh out of a bad break-up isn’t the best time to start thinking about…cleaving. I’m not looking for more.”

Constance considers him for a long moment. “You’re not allowing yourself to hope for more. There is a difference.”

Ravi looks down at his hands, brushing soot from what’s left of his jacket cuffs. “I thought you didn’t believe in ‘having lovers underfoot.’”

“For myself, certainly, mine heart is as open as the sky. But you, nephew-to-be, are the most prime exemplar of a One-Man Guy that I have ever beheld.” She leans in with a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t tell him I said so, but so is Nathan.”

Ravi shakes his head. “But…Nate dates a lot of people.”

“Stars above, Ravi, he hasn’t dated a single solitary soul since the day he met you.”

“What?”

“I tell ye true. We converse over poker nights. A terrible bluffer, you know. A flirt the fellow is indeed, but he’s ‘been too busy to get involved with anyone’ for quite some time.” Constance briefly adopts a gruff, masculine imitation that is nowhere near the real thing. “A keen observer would note it happens to coincide perfectly with your meeting. Surely just coincidence. Far be it for me to insinuate that you owe anyone your interest merely because they give you theirs, but it is as I said: he would sooner drink hemlock than cause you pain.”

Ravi gnaws at his lower lip, eyes locked on his healing hands.

He wonders bleakly what knowing Cayenne has done to him; made him both reckless and ruthless, someone he barely recognizes. Is this what love is supposed to be like? A thing that blinds you, scorches you, warps your own morals, drives you into a constant string of bad decisions until you are left with only the worst version of yourself?

“Do you think,” he rasps, throat dry, “that’s a better basis for a relationship than mutually assured destruction?”

Constance gives Ravi a slow, stunned blink. “It could hardly be worse, could it?”