“I share this body with my brother.”
She blinks in confusion. “What are you proposing?”
Again, I keep my cards close to my chest. Let her think this is her idea. “Just that if we communicate—if we work together instead of against each other—maybe it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. You falling asleep with him and waking up to me.” I squeeze her hand gently. “It’s an unusual situation, certainly. But we could all find some happiness and comfort here, couldn’t we?”
“Really?” She breathes out the word like a prayer. “You’d be open to something like that?”
I can’t help but rub her palm with my thumb in slow, deliberate circles. Tactile. Grounding. I don’t miss the subtle hitch of her breath, the way her pupils dilate slightly.
She blinks, looking excited now. “Remus and I could finally have a real chance.”
I try to ignore the sharp stab of pain those words inflict—like a blade between my ribs. But her eyes suddenly search mine with concern. “But wait, is that fair... to you?”
I smile, and I make sure it reaches my eyes. Make it warm and genuine and self-sacrificing. Oh, my precious one. Give a tactician an inch, and he will take a mile. “I will be more than content.”
Continuing to rub her hand with mine in low, massaging circles that I can tell are affecting her, I say carefully, “Because even a moment of intimacy with you in my arms makes up for a lifetime of not having anything. I’m not a greedy man.”
All right, so perhaps I have told one lie after all.
While no, I have not been a greedy man in the past—I’ve never been allowed to want anything—I have a feeling I might become very, very greedy when it comes to Lauren. Ravenous, even.
She smiles at me then—bright and genuine and full of hope—and throws her arms around my neck. The gesture fills my chest with happiness like light bursting through after the darkest storm. Like victory after a siege.
She pulls away far too quickly, but I hold on to the feeling. Catalog it. Store it away.
“I knew there was a way to make this work!” She’s practically glowing with excitement. “Just wait until I tell Remus!”
I hide my smile behind a more neutral expression. Unlike me, Remus has always been greedy. And selfish. And self-serving. He won’t share. He can’t.
But him showing his true colors—his possessiveness, his inability to compromise, his fundamental selfishness—will only drive Lauren more into my arms.
Together, she and I will deal with Remus the way I always have: by outmaneuvering him, by being smarter and morepatient and more willing to sacrifice in the short term for long-term gain.
And I will trust in my family to help me contain him when that inevitable time comes.
The pieces are falling into place exactly as they should.
TWENTY
LAUREN
Two hours later,we’re all gathered around the massive dining table, digging into the fresh cinnamon rolls I helped Hannah bake from scratch this morning. The kitchen still smells like butter and sugar and home.
Well, the humans are digging into the rolls. Romulus and his brothers are tearing into barely cooked steak—so rare it’s practically still breathing.
I have to actively look away from where Abaddon devours his meal, holding the massive slab between his clawed hands, bloody juice dripping down his muscled forearms and onto the plate below.
Hannah seems completely oblivious to her husband’s utter lack of interest in utensils—perhaps having given up that particular battle years ago. Baby Raven just flits in the air around her father’s head, her tiny wings beating rapidly as she picks up little pieces of meat he tears off and discards on his plate for her. She stuffs them into her mouth with her small clawed hands, making happy chirping sounds.
It’s weirdly domestic despite the carnage.
Kharon and Ksenia finally come downstairs, moving slowly. “It’s happening again,” Kharon says, voice tight with concern. One of his three sets of arms holds firmly to his wife as she walks, supporting her weight.
Ksenia looks absolutely exhausted—dark circles under her pale eyes, her skin almost translucent. She pauses halfway to the table to hold her massive stomach, breathing hard.
My eyes widen when she winces, her whole body tensing.
Another set of Kharon’s hands shoot out to surround her stomach protectively as the ghostly specter of runes—like I’ve seen the family use several times before—erupt from Ksenia’s belly. They’re barely formed, like smoke trying to become solid, before dissipating into nothing.
