He nods slowly, but I can tell he’s not pleased by my suggestion. I feel that none of them are.
Ezekial reaches out, fingers brushing my cheek. “If you want to see her, we’ll go with you.”
I laugh gently. “It’s literally next door.”
“Too far,” Sai mutters sourly.
“I don’t trust the dragon,” Kane adds, tightening his hold.
I try to frown at their ridiculousness, but instead bite back another smile, enjoying their protectiveness.
“How long will you need?” All the men share a look of betrayal as they stare at Julien. He ignores them, waiting for my response.
“Just a few hours,” I offer with a tiny, placating smile.
Then all their eyes narrow on me like I’ve declared I’m flitting to another realm.
“Two,” Ezekial counters, cupping my jaw. “And we’ll remain here.”
I pretend to weigh up my options, as if Ezekial’s suggestion and all their possessiveness isn’t undeniably attractive.
“Deal.” I grin. “I’ll go get dressed.”
I flit to the bedroom without a second thought, feeling the remnants of Kane’s and Ezekial’s fingers, and all their bitter disapproval. I laugh under my breath, enjoying their reluctance in some strange way.
I dress quickly, tugging on Kane’s freshly washed hoodie in hopes that might appease him, then briefly wonder which ofthem actually washed it before pairing it with soft black leggings and boots.
When I flit back into the living room, I’m met by silence, twitchy shadows and the sharp hum of at least one telepathic tantrum. They’re scattered in each corner of the room but all their gazes sweep over to me.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say sweetly, trying not to laugh at their collective sulk.
Before they can try to stop me, I flit into the hallway.
My phone buzzes.
Sai: I miss you.
Sai: I’m not good at waiting.
I smile at the flutter in my belly.
Me: Good boys are patient.
Sai: …
Sai: Baby. Don’t do this to me.
Me: And good boys get rewarded.
Sai: Fuck. Me.
Sai: I’ll be patient. Patient is my middle name. Saint Sai.
***
Kacey’s apartment is warm. Warmer than I remember it being. As I step into the living room, I spot the likely culprit: a shirtless dragon shifter wearing a tiny, floral apron as hestirs something over the hob. Amon is massive, and the apron’s definitely not built for him.
But my empathy tells me it’s something more. Not just heat or power, something emotional. Deeper.
