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

Ah. A beat of silence pulsed between us as the pieces clicked into place. I stared, longing to wrap my arms around her tense shoulders. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, Coco had been abandoned by everyone she’d dared to love. Except me. It was no coincidence she allowed herself to be vulnerable with just one person. Still . . . my heart ached when I looked to Beau, who cast covert looks in our direction every few seconds. “He isn’t them,” I whispered.

She sniffed in response. “He’s a prince.”

“You’re a princess.”

“We lead two different peoples. His will need him, and mine will need me. Look around, Lou.” She splayed her arms wide, as if Morgane and Josephine and Auguste stood here with us now. “Regardless of how this plays out in Cesarine, our kingdoms are not aligned. They never will be. We can have no future together.”

I arched a brow, parroting her own words. “You won’t know unless you try.” When she glared at me, saying nothing, I took her hands. “No, listen to me, Coco. If you don’t want Beau, fine. I promise I won’t say another word. But if you do want him—and if he wants you—the two of you will find a way. You’ll make it work.” Unbidden, I glanced back at the cabin door. “Only you can decide what your happiness looks like.”

She squeezed my hands tighter, tears sparkling. “I told you, Lou. I don’t know what my happiness looks like.”

“It’s fine not to know.” Abruptly, I pulled her to her feet, throwing my arms around her at last. Beau, Célie, and Jean Luc ceased their murmured conversation to watch us, startled. I ignored them. I didn’t care. “It isn’t fine to stop trying. We have to try, Coco, or we’ll never find it.”

Coco nodded against my cheek, and her words echoed in my ears.

Honesty goes beyond telling him who you used to be, who he used to be, who you used to be together. You need to show him.

Again, I looked to the cabin door. The anger remained, of course—ever stale—but the dread had been replaced with steely resolve. With newfound purpose. My happiness included Reid, and I would never stop fighting for him. Never stop trying. Coco followed my gaze with a small smile. Pushing me forward gently, she whispered, “Here’s to finding our happiness.”





Take Me to Church


Reid

I stooped to enter the cabin, nearly cracking my skull in the process, before straightening to inspect my sanctuary. A cluttered galley full of pots and pans to the right. A threadbare sofa straight ahead. A circular table. I crossed the cabin in two strides. A bed had been tucked behind tartan curtains at the bow of the ship. Two more strides. A second set of curtains hid another bed in the stern. The linens smelled faintly of mildew. Of salt and fish.

When my stomach gave an audible growl, I rummaged through the cabinets in search of food. It gave my hands purpose. My mind focus. Hunger had a solution. A clear, tangible solution. That pain could be cured with a loaf of hard bread, a jar of pickled vegetables. I stacked them both on the counter now. I cut the loaf with my knife. I uncorked the carrots and radishes. I searched for a plate, for a fork, without truly seeing. When I found them, I ate swiftly, determinedly, every movement efficient. Focused.

The pain in my stomach didn’t ease.

Guilt continued to churn until I shoved the plate away, disgusted with the carrots. With the boat. With myself.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

We’ll rescue you. I don’t know how, but we will. I promise.

I’d thought myself convicted. I’d never heard conviction until this day.

You are a witch, and even if you weren’t, you’ve conspired with us plenty. You’ve married a witch, slept with a witch, hidden and protected a witch—multiple times—and best yet: you’ve murdered for a witch. Four of us, to be precise. The most important of those is bleeding out on the carpet right now.

I’d never heard such vehemence. Such passion.

I hated it.

I hated her.

I hated that I didn’t hate her at all.

My thoughts spun circles as I washed my plate. The empty jar. As I replaced them in the cupboard, along with the bread. Sinking onto the couch, I stared endlessly at the cabin door. I couldn’t kill her. I couldn’t touch her in that way. In any way. When I thought of it now—thought of giving in to temptation, of trailing my lips down her ribs, or perhaps sliding my knife between them—bile rose in my throat. Maybe I could leave her instead, leave all of them, as originally planned.

The thought brought physical pain.

No, I couldn’t leave her, couldn’t kill her, couldn’t have her, which left only one solution. One clear, tangible solution. If I were honest with myself, I should’ve done it already. I should’ve done it as soon as I saw my face on that wanted poster. It should’ve been easy.

The right thing rarely was.

The door crashed open before I could finish the thought, and Lou burst into the cabin. Hair wild. Chin determined. She still wore those filthy leather pants, and the top lace of her blouse had loosened. Her neckline had slipped over her shoulder. It revealed a single collarbone. Long and delicate. My gaze lingered there for a second too long before I tore it away, furious at myself. At her. I glared at the floor.

“That’s quite enough sulking, I think.” Her boots came into view. They stopped an inch from my own. Too close. Trapped on the couch, I couldn’t move away without standing, without brushing my body past hers. This cabin was too small. Too hot. Her sweet scent engulfed it. “Come on, Chass,” she needled, bending at the waist to catch my eyes. Her hair fell long and thick between us. I clenched my hands on my knees. I wouldn’t touch it. I wouldn’t. “I know things got a bit—well, bad in the courtroom, but we have a plan to save her now. We’re going to trick Auguste.”