I stand close to the wall and watch.
“Go to your room!”
I wince.
“You remember that she’s the one who calls the shots, right?” I say to Khaos with a grin.
He whirls on me. “You keep your mouth shut; this is your fault.”
I blanch and look down, lowering my eyes to my alpha.
Angel slams into Khaos, shoving him hard into the wall. When Khaos whirls on Angel, Wrath steps in, cool-tempered, but an implacable wall that Khaos won’t challenge.
My twin stands in front of me, his hands balled, his temper snapping off him.
“You want to take a walk, Khaos, and remember that the people you are attacking are the ones you have to live with. We all know you are doing your best, but that was over the line,” Wrath says with steel in his voice.
Khaos snarls. “She could have ruined everything.”
“She could have been hurt,” Wrath agrees.
“She doesn’t care!”
“We know she cares too much.”
“We could have ended up back with someone else!”
“But we didn’t. We saved her. We will save her again, and she will free us.”
Khaos’ tension holds for a moment and then collapses. He turns on his heels and stomps out of the house. I lift my eyes in time to see a brown wolf race into the forest.
“He didn’t mean it,” Wrath says gently to me.
“It is my fault,” I say quietly. “I like sex; I like to touch. I should have been more discerning or careful or something.”
“She hurt you,” Wrath says with compassion.
I wince, remembering that night, tied to the altar. The spell they’d cast has been horrific. I still have nightmares about it.
Angel turns and takes my hand.
The unsteady world rights itself. As long as we are together, nothing will break us. But still, Khaos’ sharp words are like a lance in a wound, reopening it and making me bleed again.
“I’m just going to go and start making breakfast.”
I didn’t think there would be anything useful these bitches we’ve been enslaved to have taught us, but I admit the cleaning habits and cooking skills we developed have been helpful.
Casey appreciates it, too.
I’ll make her pancakes this morning and see if she wants company. It takes me an hour to cook enough for everyone and then bring a piping hot stack of pancakes into her bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed, staring at the wall.
I bring it over and set it on her bedside table.
“I should have knocked, sorry.”
Fuck, why am I always doing things wrong?
I hesitate and then set it down and turn, only to knock over the fork. I dive for it, my cheeks heating, and put it on the plate.
