Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

No, I didn’t know Jean Luc, but I understood him better than most.

After another moment, he dipped his chin in assent. In sorrow. “Of course. Just tell me what to do.”

“Thank you, Jean,” Célie said, pressing a kiss upon his cheek.

The last of the parchment vanished with Coco’s blood, and the message was sent.

Instead of relief, however, fresh dread crept through me. Fresh dread and stale anger. The latter simmered just beneath my skin as I stared at the cabin door. Jean Luc would help us, yes, and Claud and Blaise would too. We had a dragon on our side, as well as an original witch. Melusines and loup garou. A goddess had gifted me the magic of La Dame des Sorcières, so I could change shape—could alter the very fabric of nature—with the wave of my hand. Morgane didn’t know I existed, and Auguste didn’t know of our plan. Never before had we enjoyed such elements of surprise—indeed, never before had we been quite so prepared for what was to come. Our plan was an excellent one. The best we’d ever concocted.

Except for one very tall, very obnoxious problem.

My eyes could’ve bored holes in the door now.

Following my gaze, Coco nudged my shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“He’ll never agree.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

I scoffed. “You’re right. He’ll probably love this plan. It’ll give him a chance to act out his martyr fantasies. Hell, he’ll probably want to be lashed to the stake out of self-loathing or shame or—or some sense of misplaced duty.”

She cast me a sideways grin. “That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

“It really wasn’t.” Wrapping an arm around me now, she leaned close and lowered her voice. “Here’s your first lesson in seduction: honesty is sexy as hell. No, not like you’re thinking,” she added when I scoffed again. “Honesty goes beyond telling him who you used to be, who he used to be, who you used to be together. You’ve tried that, and it hasn’t worked. You need to show him. Allow yourself to be vulnerable, so he can be vulnerable too. That kind of honesty—that kind of honesty is intimate. It’s raw.”

I plunked my head against the hull, sighing deeply. “You forget I’m a liar. I don’t do honesty.”

Her smile spread. “You do with him.”

“He’s fucking infuriating.”

“That he is.”

“I want to gouge his eyes out.”

“I completely agree.”

“I might steal his Balisarda and shave his eyebrows with it.”

“I wish you would.”

“I’ll be honest if you will.”

Her face snapped toward mine then, confused, and I met her gaze steadily. “What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously. From the way her eyes flicked to Beau, however—so quick I might’ve missed it—she knew exactly what I meant. I pretended to ponder my words, tapping my chin with a finger.

“Well . . . Célie told me about a certain kiss.”

Those eyes narrowed in warning. “Célie needs to mind her business.”

“It sounds like you need to mind your business too.” I fought a grin at her abruptly murderous expression. “Come now. I thought you said honesty was sexy as hell?”

She yanked her arm from my shoulders, crossing it with her other. Huddling deeper within the blankets. “Don’t project what you and Reid have onto Beau and me. Ours isn’t a grand, sweeping romance. We aren’t star-crossed lovers. We were a casual hookup, and that’s all.”

“Coco, Coco, Coco.” I bumped her shoulder this time. “Who’s the liar now?”

“I’m not lying.”

“I thought you said honesty was raw? I thought you said it was intimate?”

She grimaced and looked away, clutching the locket at her chest. “Too raw. Too intimate.”

My grin slowly faded at the hurt in her words. “When was the last time you were vulnerable with anyone?”

“I’m vulnerable with you.”

But I didn’t count, and she knew it. I wracked my memory for each of Coco’s serious relationships—a witch named Flore, Babette, and Beau himself. I didn’t know if I should count Ansel. Those emotions had been serious, yes, but unrequited on both sides. “Is this . . . is this about Ansel?” I asked tentatively.

She shot me a sharp look. “No.” Then— “Well, not anymore.” Her shoulder slumped, and her arms fell loose at her sides. She stared at her palms in her lap. “It was, at first. But he—he visited me in the Wistful Waters, Lou.”

Moisture gathered in my eyes. “I know.”

She didn’t seem shocked by the revelation, her gaze instead turning inward. As if she hadn’t heard me at all. “He told me he wanted me to be happy. He said if Beau could do that, I shouldn’t hesitate.” She shook her head sadly. “But I don’t even know what happiness looks like.”

“Of course you do—”

“What I know,” she continued determinedly, speaking over me, “is that it isn’t Beau’s job to show me. It isn’t anyone’s job but mine. If I can’t make myself happy, how can he? How can my mother or my aunt or my kin?”