He snickered, the vibration radiating up my spine. “Hmm. I was born in August. My parents lacked any imagination, it seems.”

“And Ava Mathers is your sister. Is there anyone else?”

August flinched, shocked to hear his sister’s name spoken aloud. A name he was willing to defend against all others.

August was still ruminating on the change in our relationship. We didn’t have a label (nor did we need one), though he was in borderline panic mode from the amount of vital information he had already surrendered.

Our trust was too natural, our reliance too easy. He was waiting for the kicker to roundhouse him in the face.

I waited. This was an internal battle he had to fight on his own. Then his resolution progressively hardened and he chose to trust in me.

Pressing a kiss to my shoulder blade, he relented. August chose to trust in us.

“Our parents were killed when I was fifteen years old, my sister thirteen.” He paused, dragging in a breath. “Fuck, I need a cigarette,” he muttered.

My thumb stroked the palm of his hand. I still found it remarkable how my Variant and body accepted him so fully, so wholeheartedly. I couldn’t risk over-analysing our connection, or we’d both go insane.

We’d settled into a quiet contentment, freely surrendering the innermost darkest recesses of ourselves, for the other to take and safely keep.

“We didn’t have anyone else. After they were gone, I didn’t want Ava and I to be separated in the foster system, so we ran away to live on the streets.”

“I was always good at fighting, so I naturally gravitated to the Caverns and made a name for myself, gaining as much power, money and stability as I could. I was her big brother and I wanted to—would—do anything to protect her. Which meant I was inducted into the Ludus Maximus at eighteen. I believed my initiation would give me everything I needed to keep her safe.” He shuffled closer, burying his face in my hair. “Instead, the person I sought refuge with used her against me.”

His experience was difficult for him to convey. I was certain that he’d never had to articulate his tragic past into words.

Although he spoke the truth, he’d given a simplified version, the complicated traumatic memories sending his emotional state spiralling. I squeezed his hand in comfort, all too familiar with the same emotions aching inside me.

For August to give up anything at all was a small spark of hopeful light, and with it I wanted to give him the world.

“Did you find the person responsible?” My gaze flicked over my shoulder with the underlying question. Did you kill them?

“Not yet, but I will.”

I bumped my nose against his. “I understand.” Above all others, I truly did understand.

I whispered a promise against his lips and he released a tremor. “I will find her for you, August.”

“How?” he murmured. I could feel a wisp of doubt, his resistance to hope for what he had yearned for, for so long.

My mouth lifted into an obnoxious smirk and I flicked the middle of his forehead. “I am Micah King. Put some respect on my motherfucking name.” His small hint of doubt simultaneously dissolved into amused disbelief, and a healthy splash of fear. I cackled like the mad woman I was, his worries leaving him, if only for a minute.

Chapter 15Micah

The low hum of the tattoo gun wafted over me with familiarity, the sting of the needle a reassuring presence rhythmically piercing into my skin. A week had passed since August and I had stolen those snapshot moments in the basement of Oakview Asylum.

He now remained a constant presence. In my mind, on my flesh, throughout my dreams.

“Now you’re starting on your legs. You’re going to run out of room soon,” Emerson said, as she sat atop a desk in the corner, flipping through a design catalogue.

It was the early hours in the morning and we’d commandeered the most notable tattoo and piercing parlour in the city.

I ignored her, concentrating on the intricate pattern, when a bang sounded out back. I spared a vacant glance at the blue-haired woman with silver eyes who filled the threshold, wearing a recognisable smirk.

“How’d you go?” I asked, returning to my task.

“For someone that’s a prisoner, she really is a spoiled princess.”

Emerson snickered. “So you got along then?”

“Famously.” Spencer smiled as her face transitioned back into her own. No matter her mask, I would always recognise that aura.

“You didn’t threaten her, did you?”

“I told her to alert the Saint at Variant Sanctorum if she had to contact us,” Spencer replied, completely ignoring my question. Emerson tsked and I let it slide, thankful that she completed the mission without killing anyone in general.

I stretched out my leg to change the angle and get better access to my upper thigh. “They won’t believe she’s suddenly turned religious, Spence.”

She retrieved a necklace from her throat and dangled the silver in front of me. “Well, lucky she won’t have to wait long, huh. Tanner returns in a couple of days, then your precious boyfriend and his sister will be free. Then we’ll have the ammo to get to Maximus.”

It hadn’t taken us long to locate Ava. With her description alone, Spencer had already catalogued her image from previous scouting missions in Serpent’s Row.

Ava was heavily guarded and hidden in plain sight, her image solely what Maximus presented her to be. Disguised as a bartender in one of the Ludus’ most prominent and secure brothels, Forbidden Garden. The difficult part was finding a way to coordinate her rescue in conjunction with August’s. We could not take one without the other.

I reached for the necklace, Spencer snatching the chain out of reach at the last second. “Tell us what the tattoo means.”

I rolled my eyes, their never-ending questions and all-knowing expressions making me regret bringing them along.

Emerson bowed her head over my work. “Looks like another flower to add to the collection. What does this one mean, M?” Her tone was inquisitive.

I refused to answer, otherwise I’d never get any reprieve.

“Is that who I think it is?!” Spencer shrieked, launching across the room to point at an autographed photo amongst the countless others pinned to the wall.

My hand flinched at her outburst, barely correcting my hold to save a glitched line in my tattoo. I flicked a glance at the image she desperately fawned over. A smiling, dark-skinned man stood tall, his arm encircling a heavily inked brunette with purple eyes, multiple dogs surrounding their feet.

“Who is he?”

Spencer choked at the question. “Remember the guy who threatened the city last week?”

I stared blankly. “Of course I do. I was stranded at Oakview all night.”

Emerson huffed. “I wouldn’t call it stranded.”

They both giggled. They did have a point.

Spencer fastened the necklace over my head and rummaged through the desk, retrieving an unopened bottle of vodka. “Him. He’s the chemical weapon.”

Emerson and I zoned in on the photo, assessing his likeness with renewed fervour. “He got his hands on Amp, used his Variant to influence the air particles and caused chaos through the streets so he could rob a bank. Almost got away with it, too. Fucking epic, right?!”