“Well, the interior matches the outside. Dark and mysterious.” That mystery being how long had passed since the place was cleaned. “I’ll withhold full judgment until I see the kitchen. You do have one, right?”
“Aye, we do.” More amused than before, Rowan tipped his head to the left. “It’s that way.”
Five steps forward put me in view of it… and what I saw would haunt my dreams for years to come.
“You can’t be serious.” I lifted both hands to my face as I took in the horror, equally stunned and disgusted. I’d seen abandoned buildings with cleaner kitchens. “When was it last used? A century ago?”
“No. I made tea earlier this afternoon.” Reign rested his hands on his hips, seeming awfully proud of himself. “And a sandwich.”
“You actually ate something that came from here?” I scrutinized the dirty counters, unwashed cups, and stacks of plates caked with what I assumed was food but couldn’t be sure, as the color and texture were questionable. “Are you feeling all right? Upset tummy or have a headache? Should I call poison control?”
“Poison?” Reign cocked his head. “Why would that be in the kitchen?”
“This isn’t a kitchen. This is where hope comes to die. Where’s the mop?” I shuffled forward, still in a state of disbelief. “And soap. Lots and lots of soap. The strongest you have. I’m talking professional-grade disinfectant. A flamethrower, too, if you have it.”
Big arms circled my waist from behind, bringing a warm scent I knew all too well. Like leather and manly muskiness rolled together. “Now, sweetheart, that’s not very polite.”
“It’d be impolite for me not to help. Poor, unfortunate souls. No wonder they’re always so hungry when they come to the cottage.”
Reign’s mask ruffled as he laughed.
“They’re here!” an unfamiliar voice called from the right.
“Wait for me,” another said, with a similar tone as the first but less enthusiastic.
Footsteps came from the stone stairs along the wall before two men appeared in front of us. Boys, really. They looked no older than eighteen or nineteen. Both had athletic builds, brown hair, hazel eyes, and sandy skin tones, like warm ochre.
“Twins?” I asked, noting their identical features.
“I’m the eldest.” The more serious of the two gave a curt nod of his head. “Name’s Lochlan.”
“And I’m Lyric,” the other added, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. “We’ve met you once before but were wearing masks at the time.”
“Oh!” I said, recalling the night I’d looked out the window and seen masked men in the backyard. They’d come to take Rowan to their captain. Two of them had stood behind Draven, neither saying a word. “The night Ro joined the Secret Order.”
“Right.” Lyric bounded forward, stopping inches from me. “You invited us to dinner, but Draven said no. He’s so mean. That food smelled incredible too.”
“We had orders,” a heavily accented voice said from the staircase. Draven made his way toward us, his gait steady and relaxed. “Filling our bellies was not one of them.”
I barely registered his words. I was too focused on his face.
“You’re not wearing your mask,” I squeaked.
His baby blue eyes narrowed. “Why would I? This is our home. Concealing my identity is unnecessary.”
The tiny glimpse of his mouth when he’d eaten a cookie in front of me gave me the impression he was hot beneath that mask, but it paled in comparison to seeing him in all his bare-faced glory. Yes, as previously noted, his jawline could cut glass. But he also had a head of pale blond hair, cupid bow lips, a perfectly sloped nose, and long lashes most people would kill for.
Draven was a total hottie.
“Need help wiping the drool off your face, little treasure?” Rowan asked, barely concealing a laugh.
“I’m not drooling.” I wiped at my mouth just to be sure. “He just surprised me, is all.”
Maddox’s arms tightened around me, and a deep growl rumbled in his chest. “I suppose I can gut him as well.”
Smiling, I turned to face my silly, grumpy man. “No gutting necessary. He’s like key lime pie.”
“Key lime pie?”
