We still need that other half of the Soul Stone from the hag, plus whatever she fished-hooked out of that rift. That's a migraine for another day.
At least Bryn's settled into our dysfunctional family perfectly—living in the gym with Erik, training with me and Seraphina. It's nice having another woman who can kick ass in heels.
She's also discovered the joys of mortal fashion. Erik made the rookie mistake of handing over his credit card and giving her an Amazon tutorial. Now we're drowning in packages—though unlike most women's shopping sprees, Bryn's primarily consist of weapons.
So. Many. Weapons.
The UPS guy isdefinitely filing reports somewhere. I'm half expecting a SWAT team to crash through our windows any day now because who the hell orders seventeen different types of throwing stars and a medieval mace in a single week?
On an entirely different note, my monthly curse appeared, and Rhyland is losing his Viking mind over it."Let me make you feel good, Angel. I can smell you,"he keeps purring, all seductive and tempting. Like I need the extra distraction of my mate going full hormonal caveman.
Not that I'm innocent—I've been sending Rhyland mental images that have him grinding his teeth, testing how far I can push before he decides "monthly maintenance" isn't a dealbreaker. He's been surprisingly respectful... mostly. But that's our game—I push, he growls, we both enjoy the tension.
Look, I'm down for kinky stuff—hell, half the things we do would make Christian Grey clutch his pearls—but I'm not sure I'm ready for Rhyland to take that particular plunge. Though watching him process another month without a mini-Viking in my womb is its own special kind of heartache.
Emily, being the annoyingly perceptive bestie she is, clocks my mood instantly. And yeah, I know the whole vampire-baby situation is about as likely as Lucian giving up his smart-ass mouth. Trust me, I got the supernatural birth control memo. Hell, I even had my IUD taken out last week—because really, what's the point of keeping that thing when my mate's swimmers have been dead for a millennium?
But that vision in the reflection pool? The one dangling the impossible family portrait in front of me? Yeah, it's hitting different today. Like getting tagged in a vacation photo when you're stuck at work, except the vacation is "having kids" and my workplace is "mated to an incredibly hot but reproductively challenged Viking vampire."
The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes.
Sera and I are tackling the Fire Realm book tonight, while Lucian's determined to convert Bryn to Marvel fandom. The unexpected highlight? His full-blown bromance with Brax. They're inseparable, debating Thor versus Hulk like it's doctoral thesis defense. Yesterday's evidence—a detailed power-ranking bracket system covering our living room wall.
I jingle the car keys like a rain dance, bouncing by the door. "Let's blow this prison, ladies! Operation Escape From Alcatraz is now or never!" I glance nervously at the hallway, where Rhylandand Erik's workout sounds like a testosterone Olympics. "We've got seven minutes before my Tattooed Temptations' sixth sense starts tingling.
"Jesus H. Christ," Emily emerges from the hallway, one boot on, the other dangling from her hand. "Hold your damn horses, woman. Some of us need actual time to put shoes on our feet."
In the kitchen, my girl gang is assembled like Charlie's Angels—if Charlie recruited from the supernatural unemployment line. Seraphina's hiding her wings, Bryn's playing with a throwing star (seriously, where was she hiding that?), and Sable's practically glowing with escape-plan excitement, dabbing blood from her lips, my empty vial beside her.
She's adapted to vampire life amazingly well, rough patches and all. With Damon guiding her, they've become inseparable—his calm perfectly balancing her sweetness. My brother and my witchy-turned-vampire friend finding love? The universe has a weird sense of humor, but I'm here for it.
We bolt out the door—ninja-style quiet—and pile into Lucian's SUV. I smash the garage door opener with the enthusiasm of a prison escapee, all of us grinning as we've just pulled off the heist of the century—one glance in the rearview mirror and—well, shit.
"Did you think you could sneak off without us noticing?" Rhyland's deep voice rumbles, his tone of amusement and alpha male smugness. He's standing behind the car, arms crossed, with Lucian and Erik flanking him like security detail.
I let my forehead thunk against the steering wheel. "Damn it. I knew we should've done that cloaking spell."
"I fucking told you!" Emily snaps from the back seat. "But your impatient ass couldn't wait five goddamn minutes, could you?"
Yeah, no. Emily might be a magical powerhouse extraordinaire, but the girl treats every spell like brain surgery when we all need is magical duct tape and a quick getaway.
Rhyland appears at my window, opening the door with infuriating slowness. His smirk screams, 'I own this situation' as he leans down, filling the doorframe with his bulky shoulders. Jerk.
"I was hoping for more of an 'ask for forgiveness rather than permission' situation," I fire back, fluttering my eyelashes. "Since your overprotective caveman policy on leaving the property is getting a bit stifling."
Lucian pops his head into the backseat, grinning like an idiot. "Well, well, well! Looks like we've got a bunch of naughty jailbirds trying to fly the coop!" He waggles his eyebrows at Seraphina. "Baby girl, you know what happens to rule breakers around here. Spanking time!" Seraphina's giggle is half scandalized, half intrigued.
Erik appears at the passenger door, his face an emotionless mask save for one slightly raised eyebrow. "Attempting to flee the premises without proper notification or security protocols in place. Most unwise, little bird."
"I need no man's permission to venture forth, silfrhár," Bryn declares, pure warrior goddess attitude. Her tone screams badass Valkyrie, but the way she's eye-fucking Erik tells an entirely different story. For someone who decapitates Draugr without breaking a sweat, she turns to Norse pudding around our silver fox.
I groan, slumping back. Busted by the testosterone trio.
"Fine."
Rhyland's voice vibrates through the car as he leans in, his big body blocking the steering wheel. Sandalwood and clean sweat flood my senses.
I lift my head slowly. Did I hallucinate that surrender?
