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

There she was.

Chuckling, I fell into step beside her. It felt nice. Familiar. After another moment of comfortable silence, she asked, “What will we do after we warn the cauchemar?”

The peace I’d felt fractured, as did my smile. “We journey to the Chateau.”

Her hand fluttered to her collar once more. A nervous habit. A telling one. “And—and then what? Just how do we plan to defeat Morgane?”

“Watch where you’re going.” I nodded to a dip in the path. Sure enough, she stumbled slightly. I didn’t reach for her this time, and she caught herself without my help. “Lou wants to burn the castle to the ground.” The dead weight returned to my chest. To my voice. “And everyone in it.”

“How will she do that?”

I shrugged. “How does a witch do anything?”

“How does it work, then? The . . . magic?” Her expression took on a shyer quality, her chin ducking quickly to her chest. She turned to face forward once more. “I’ve always been curious.”

“You have?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Reid. I know you were curious too.” She paused delicately. “Before.”

Before. Such a simple word. I kept my gaze impassive. “It’s a give and take. For Lou to raze the Chateau, she’ll have to destroy something of equal value to herself.”

Célie’s voice held wonder. “And what might that be?”

I don’t know. The admission chafed. Lou had provided no details. No strategy. When we’d pressed her, she’d simply smiled and asked, “Are you afraid?” Beau had responded immediately with a resounding yes. I’d privately agreed. The entire plan—or lack thereof—made me uneasy.

Like God had plucked him from my thoughts, my brother’s shout rent the air. Célie and I looked up in unison to see part of the cliff give way. Rocks rained down upon us, striking first my shoulders, my arms, then my head. Sharp pain exploded, and stars burst in my vision. Reacting instinctively, I thrust Célie out of harm’s way, and Beau—he—

Horror unfurled in my gut like a deadly snake.

As if in slow motion, I watched as he lost his footing, as he flailed wildly through the air, as he tried and failed to find purchase among the falling rocks. There was nothing I could do. No way I could help. Lunging forward anyway, I gauged the distance between us, desperate to catch some part of him before he plunged to the sea—

Coco’s hand shot through the rockfall and seized his wrist.

With another shout, Beau swung in her grip like a pendulum. He thrust his free hand upward to grip the edge of the rock, and together, the two struggled to drag him back onto the path. I raced ahead to help, my heart pounding a deafening beat. Adrenaline—complete, unadulterated fear—coursed through my system, lengthening my stride and shortening my breath. By the time I reached them, however, they lay sprawled in a tangled heap. Their chests rose and fell haphazardly as they too tried to catch their breath. Above us, Lou stood at the top of the bluff. She gazed down with a hint of a smile. Just the slightest curve of her lips. The white dog growled and disappeared behind her. “You should really be more careful,” she said softly before turning away.

Beau glared at her in disbelief but didn’t respond. Sitting up, he wiped a shaky hand across his brow and glanced at his arm. His mouth twisted in an ugly slash. “Goddamn it. I tore my fucking sleeve.”

I shook my head, cursing bitterly under my breath. His sleeve. He’d nearly plunged to his death, and all he cared about was his fucking sleeve. With a convulsive, full-body shudder, I opened my mouth to tell him just what he could do with said sleeve, but an odd choking noise escaped Coco. I stared at her in alarm—then incredulity.

She wasn’t choking at all.

She was laughing.

Without a word—her shoulders still shaking—she reached out to tear the fabric of his opposite sleeve. His mouth fell open in outrage as he tried to pull away. “Excuse you. My mother bought me this shirt!”

“Now you match.” She clutched his arms and laughed harder. “Your mother will approve when she sees you. If she ever sees you again, that is. You did almost die.” She slapped his chest as if the two had shared a hilarious joke. “You almost died.”

“Yes.” Beau searched her face warily. “You mentioned that.”

“I can mend your shirt, if you’d like,” Célie offered. “I’ve a needle and thread in my bag—” But she broke off when Coco continued to laugh wildly. When that laughter deepened into something darker. Crazed. Beau pulled her into his arms without hesitation. Her shoulders shook now for an entirely different reason, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing incoherently. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, the other across her back, and he held her tightly, fiercely, murmuring soft words in her ear. Words I couldn’t hear. Words I didn’t want to hear.

I looked away.

This pain wasn’t for me. This vulnerability. I felt like an interloper. Watching them together—the way Beau rocked her gently, the way she clutched him for dear life—it brought a lump to my throat. Anyone could see where this was headed. Coco and Beau had danced around each other for months. Just as clear, however, was the inevitable heartbreak. Neither was in a position to start a relationship. They shared too much hurt between them. Too much grief. Jealousy. Spite. Even well-adjusted, the two would’ve been wrong for each other. Like water and oil.