Emily gives me her patented 'I will hex you if you ever scare me like that again' glare while Sable's doing her best not to ruin her mascara with the tears she's totally failing to hide from her big brown eyes.
"Ladies, if you could avoid crushing my girl?" Rhyland's amused voice rumbles behind me. "I just got her back in one piece."
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. "Please, like you weren't just claiming every inch of me upstairs with that overactive stamina of yours." The scandalized gasp from Seraphina and Sable's knowing smirk is worth the predatory heat blazing in his gaze.
"Seriously?" Emily's eyebrows hit her hairline, her rainbow hair looking like she lost a fight with an F5 tornado. "You just escaped Satan's sugar baby, and you're up there banging your—you know what? Viking dick time is over. This bitch and I have a date with several bottles of very expensive alcohol."
"Food first," I groan, my stomach choosing that moment to growl loud enough to wake the dead. "Unless you want me face-planting in those expensive bottles of yours."
She yanks me toward the kitchen, where Erik and Lucian are holding court on the island. The moment I appear, Erik's stoic facade cracks. He crosses the space in three long strides, wrapping me in an embrace that screams 'protective vampire brother.'
Rhyland told me how Erik tried to outbid my buyer, willing to spend every penny he had to save me. My heart swells with love for my silver protector—beneath that brooding exterior, he's got a heart of gold.
"Little Huntress," his refined voice cracks slightly. "I should have reached you sooner. My failure to—"
"Oh my god, stop writing poetry about your feelings and give her here," Lucian yanks me from Erik's arms. "Jesus Christ, you'd think getting your neck snapped would make you less dramatic." He squeezes me tight, dropping a kiss on my head. "Besides, your whole 'martyr in a tactical vest' routine is seriously harshing my buzz."
Erik's eye roll could win Olympic medals, but I catch the slight upturn of his lips.
"Welcome back to the shit show, princess," he winks, ignoring Erik's death glare."Better watch out—Erik wrote three haikus about his guilt while you were gone."
"Ihardly think—" Erik's dignified protest gets steamrolled by Emily slamming shot glasses onto the counter like she's arming for war.
"Shut it, Mr. Tactical," Emily commands, amber liquid sloshing as she pours with terrifying efficiency. "Next person who opens their mouth before downing four shots gets transformed into the tackiest garden gnome Target's ever seen. Complete with a fishing pole and little red hat."
Lucian, being Lucian, naturally opens his mouth—probably to ask if his gnome transformation would be anatomically correct and well-endowed—but Emily's 'try me, bitch' glare has him snatching his shot glass.
I'm seated at the island, and then, like the food gods have answered my prayers, Rosa drops a mouth-watering plate in front of me—a perfectly grilled steak cooked medium-rare, garlic mashed potatoes drowning in butter, and roasted asparagus that smells like heaven. I beam at her like she's just handed me the keys to paradise.
"Oh my god, thank you, Rosa!"
When Lucian said he had staff on speed dial, I thought he was full of shit. And right now, I could kiss her entire face for knowing exactly what my starving ass needs.
Rosa's been our personal kitchen goddess since she arrived a couple of weeks ago, right before our little dance with the apocalypse—AKA Azrael. Her culinary magic has been blessing our taste buds three times a day, heavy on the Mexican cuisine because apparently Lucian's immortal ass can't function without his daily dose of authentic enchiladas. That man may have decades under his belt, but his devotion to Rosa's cooking borders on religious fervor. Not that I'm complaining—pretty sure she could make a gourmet meal out of a pack of ramen and some pocket lint.
"Eat up, cariña," Rosa says with a knowing smile.
I don't waste time with manners, attacking my steak like I'm auditioning for National Geographic while everyone else throws back shots. Rhyland hovers behind me like my own personal bodyguard as I demolish my plate with zero shame.
Through a mouthful of heaven, I wave my fork at Erik and Lucian before jabbing it over my shoulder at Rhyland. "Alright, spill it. All of you. Starting with why your psycho maker is obsessed with my man and ending with whatever cosmic field trip yanked his brooding ass through that vortex."
Rhyland
16
Ispill the whole shit storm—my part in this prophecy, my seriously fucked-up family tree, how my mother's power—her darkness is tangled up with the Soul Stone, and my surprise father-in-law chat with Mr. Sunshine himself—Elysium.
"Magni?" Erik questions from his chair, methodically sipping from a blood bag—his typical reserved approach to feeding, always maintaining that iron control.
"Thor's son," I confirm, jaw clenching at the memory.
"Holy shit-balls, I knew it!" Lucian cackles like the maniac he is. "You're Thor's buff-as-fuck grandson! No wonder you've got that whole 'God of Brooding' vibe going on. What's the family motto—'With Great Power Comes Great Daddy Issues'? Wait, wait—can I call you Thunder Thighs? Point Break?"
I glare at my brother, seriously considering ripping out his fucking vocal cords. Leave it to Lucian to turn my bloodline revelation into his personal comedy hour. The asshole's probably already planning merchandise with my face on it.
"Oh! I know—Thunder Vamp: The Winter Soldier! Come on, work with me here, guys, this is premium material!"
"You done?" I growl, watching him practically vibrate with glee like a kid who just discovered sugar. "Or should I give you a few more minutes to get all this shit out of your system?"
