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Emerson sank down into the armchair in Sam’s living room, feeling numb. All this time, he’d thought he would always be alone. He’d resigned himself to barely existing. Anything was an improvement over the life he’d had as a weak cur kid in a clan of ogres. He’d never even dreamed he’d be lucky enough to experience love, let alone have it returned. Ogres didn’t have mate bonds the way shifters did. So, he’d been shocked when he realized he could feel the mate bond forming between him and Sam. He’d been completely bowled over when Sam and Fin just welcomed him into their relationship like he belonged.
And now, after having all that dangled before him like some kind of treasure that was finally within his reach—Sam was gone.
A broken sound came from the leprechaun cur who sat on the floor across from him, his little legs stuck straight out and his head in his hands as he leaned his back against the couch. Emerson’s heart broke a little bit more. Fin was a good guy. He was also Emerson’s best friend and the first person who had bothered to see him as anything more than a dumb, hulking brute.
“She’ll come back,” Emerson found himself saying, even though he wasn’t sure he believed it. He had been damned lucky to have Sam in his life at all. Getting that lucky a second time didn’t seem too likely.
Fin scrubbed his hands over his face and raked his fingers through his hair, tugging in frustration, as if he’d like to pull all his hair out by the roots. “It’s my fault,” he blurted, his green eyes wide and wild.
Emerson leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “What? No, Fin. It’s not your fault. Sam just...you know she can’t deal with her feelings very well. And she’s really hurting.”
The little leprechaun just shook his head, the muscles along his square jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth a few times before speaking. “No. Not that. The fiend. It’s my fault. I got her killed.”
Emerson had trouble breathing for a minute. He laced his fingers together and pulled restlessly, making the knuckles pop. “You...did you turn her in, Fin?”
The crack in his heart just seemed to widen a little more. Fin was his best friend. He was a good guy. But he had been so mad about Sam spending time with Ahura. What would Emerson do if Fin had turned her in?
The leprechaun snorted. “What? No. I’m not that much of an ass. But I might as well have.” He turned those tortured green eyes on Emerson again, and his lips twisted in self-loathing. “I used my luck magic. When her and Sam went on the job together. You guys have said it often enough, haven’t you? Luck magic is tricky. It’s unpredictable. It can have unwanted side effects.” He tugged at his hair again, looking away. “I got cocky though. Nothing really bad has ever happened. So, I brushed off all the warnings. Thought I was too good for shit to stick to me, didn’t I?”
Emerson rubbed a hand over the back of his neck to ease the tension that was building there. “What did you ask for? When you cast your spell?”
Fin lifted his gaze to the ceiling, then closed his eyes. “I don’t remember my exact wording. I wished for the job to be successful for them. For Sam to be powerful and strong. For Ahura to make a difference for the fiends.”
His eyes opened and he shuddered. “Don’t you see, Em? I sent Sam away to work with the politician, in a powerful position. And Ahura? Who knows what her death will mean, now that Sam’s bent on revenge? I bet it will make some kind of fucking ‘difference,’ now won’t it?”
It felt like all the air had been sucked out of Emerson’s lungs. He wanted to tell Fin how stupid that was. How it couldn’t possibly be his fault.
Except...that was exactly why people cautioned against magic that had to do with luck or fate. You might get the outcome you asked for. But you never knew how you’d get it or what kind of events would lead to that outcome.
“What do we do now?” Fin said, his voice cracking.
Emerson drew in a deep breath. “We wait for Sam to come home.”
Emerald eyes met Emerson’s gaze, and Fin shook his head. “And when he doesn’t come back?”
Emerson stood and went to kneel by the smaller man, giving his shoulder a squeeze, feeling a resolve settling into him like he never had before. Emerson wasn’t a fighter. He hated violence and confrontation. But there were some things worth fighting for. “First, you find a way to forgive yourself. Then, we go get our mate and bring her back.”