Their Fireheart

Chapter Fifteen

"Stop," she commanded, eyeing me sternly. Looking around to include the rest of my brothers, she says, "I'm sure I don't want to know what the four of you are thinking, but I can guess. And the answer is no."

"But -" I began to protest.

"Chaol is our ally, at least for now, which means you will not attack him," Aelin cut me off sharply. I do my best not to pout.

But really, how important can the allegiance of one puny human be?

"I won't ask you to be polite, since I doubt you're capable of that," she continued with a roll of her eyes. "But there will be no violence. Understand?"

No. No, I did not understand. Anyone who looked sideways at my mate, let alone actually hurt her, deserved to be torn limb from limb.

She'd suffered through enough on her own in the long years following the fall of her kingdom, not to mention the miserable weeks we'd been apart. We hadn't been here to protect her, to support her, but we were now. And I'd be damned if I allowed anything, or anyone, to harm my mate under my watch.

My brothers grumbled alongside me, all of us clearly still affected by those long weeks apart, but it was evident Aelin would not be swayed. Half a minute of suffering under her fierce glare, and we're all nodding like the obedient fucking worms we are.

Rhysand is the last to fall, only acquiescing with a countered, "Fine. But he stays out of the apartment. Warehouse or roof only."

"You can't be serious," Aelin said flatly.

She looks entirely unimpressed, but honestly I don't blame him. Rhys is only doing what he can to obey her demand. I don't even want to think about how we'd react if we had to endure his scent intermingling with hers in her personal quarters, especially if he was that close to the bedroom where we'd finally reclaimed our mate.

"Warehouse or roof, otherwise I won't be held accountable for my actions." Rhys smiled cruelly, every inch the High Lord of Night.

Aelin huffed, but spun around, grumbling complaints under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, insufferable, egotistical, chest-beating neanderthal fucking fae males.

But I could be wrong.

Swinging open the door, she brushes past the silhouette of the man standing there and begins marching down the steps with nothing more than a sharp, "Follow me." Rowan followed behind her closely, shooting an approving glance over his shoulder as Az, Rhys and I hung back.

As soon as Aelin is out of earshot, we exchange meaningful glances. We haven't spent centuries on the killing fields together to not immediately know what the others are thinking, even without our usual mind link.

"Aelin may have clipped our wings," Az murmured, "But that doesn't mean we can't ensure Chaol is aware of the bloody consequences of insulting our mate."

"Oh, no. After today, he'll understand the wrath he'll incur if he even thinks about Aelin with anything but the utmost respect," Rhys chuckles wickedly.

Three sets of fangs flash in the afternoon sunlight, sealing our ominous vow. As one, we turn and stalk down the stairs into the first floor warehouse after Aelin. Though we'd trust Rowan with any of our lives, all of us want this so-called Captain within eyesight during any interaction with our precious mate.

A quick scan of the floor found Aelin rooting around in a cabinet on the far side of the room. Rowan stood at the large door opposite of the staircase, eyes fixed on the middle of the space.

And there he was.

Standing before one of the many crates in the cavernous warehouse stood the male who could only be this Captain, this Chaol - stupid fucking name, if you ask me.