I need to blend in with the rest of the students here at Everbound. If that means training and taking classes with the four legacies who made me feel incredible right before they made me feel like shit, I'll endure it.
But I need to draw some hard boundaries first.
"Forgive, no. But I'll be yourplatonickeeper. For now."
Baelfire's face falls. “Come on, Boo-tiful?—"
Boo-tiful?Okay, fuck no. Time to nip that one in the bud.
I hold up a hand to cut him off. "I'm vetoing that nickname."
"Okay, Boo?—"
"That one is out now, too. In fact, don't give me any fucking nicknames. Including any in fae," I add, glaring at Silas.
His ruby gaze narrows. "Speaking of which, how are you so fluent in fae? Even your accent is impressive."
Lillian was once married to a fae, and their language was all she spoke for years before I met her. When I was growing up, she was the only living person I saw for weeks on end. She tried to help ease my isolation by telling me all about her past fae family, sharing their culture, and teaching me their language. We spoke English and fae interchangeably.
But Silas doesn't need to know that or anything else about me, so I offer no answer. "Back to the topic at hand. Combat."
"No, the topic at hand is the fact that you think we'll be fucking platonic," Baelfire grits out. "No way in hell is that happening."
"Lots of quintets are platonic."
"Not ours. You're my mate. I won't acceptplatonicanything with you."
I look heavenward, wondering if the gods are enjoying this shitshow they're putting me through. They're probably all laughing their godly asses off.
"For the last time, I am not your mate."
He growls and grasps my arm, pulling me closer to him and ignoring Silas's warning scowl. There's a wild, animalistic gleam in Baelfire's golden eyes that I've never seen before.
"Yes, you are. You're mine, and I'm yours—end of the motherfucking story. The end. Get over it."
Excuse me?
I yank my arm away and give him my finely tuned death stare, slipping into the lethal tone I rarely have to use.
"Rephrase that."
Baelfire's glower softens. He blows out a breath and rubs his face. "Shit. I'm sorry. Fuck, I didn't mean to be so…I'm just…"
"Manic?"
He grimaces. "My dragon is a Grade A alphahole, and he's got one clawed hand on the wheel right now. Believe it or not, his temper is even worse than mine. Having you in this crowded-ass room without my mark or scent on you is already driving me up the wall—this is just making it worse. I am not getting fucking friend-zoned by my mate."
"You're not," I agree. "Because we're not friends. We'll be work acquaintances."
Silas pierces me with a stare. "I've been balls deep in your perfect pussy, and we've all heard the delicious little sounds youmake when you come. This will be noacquaintanceship, not when we all crave you so ardently."
Warmth prickles my neck and cheeks, but so does anger as I regard him. "Oh, I'm hardly whatyouwere craving. Tell me, what prize did you win for being the first to screw me?"
"He's not claiming any prize," Baelfire says vehemently. "We're dropping the?—"
"Dragon scales," Silas concedes. "And access to Frost ledgers."
Everett stiffens before glaring daggers at Silas. Baelfire looks equally put off. They each look as if they're about to rip him a new asshole, but we're interrupted by an all-male quintet approaching. All five of them have their heads held high as they face off with us, and the one I assume is their keeper greets us with a fake smile. His buzzed hair shows off his tiger-stripe-tattooed scalp.
