The Fierce Little Thing And Her Five Mates
“Jordan. And if you’re good with me killing your father, then we’re cool. Let’s go, slayer.”
Dylan shakes his hand, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something...grief, guilt, maybe even relief on his face, but he swallows it down and follows us toward the hatch.
I drop through the hatch, light orb in hand, and wait for Jordan. Dylan climbs in after, sealing the hatch behind us. I glance up at him, deadpan.
“You seriously can’t come.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he says with all the dramatic flair of a romantic hero. “We’re mates. The gods themselves paired us. Where you go, I go and besides, Jordan said we’re cool.”
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