For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Might tell them to fuck off again and come back to ruining me with his mouth and hands and that infuriating smile.
Instead, he exhaled hard and pushed himself up. The loss of contact was immediate and devastating. Cold air rushed in where his body heat had been, my skin suddenly too sensitive, too aware of every place he’d touched.
We both moved, awkward and rushed. Varyth swung his legs over the side of the bed, and I scrambled out the other side, my hands already smoothing down my rumpled shirt. My hair was a disaster. My face was probably flushed. And there was absolutely no way anyone with functioning eyes would look at either of us and think nothing had been happening.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I spotted the armchair near the window and made a beeline for it, dropping into the seat with what I hoped looked like casual nonchalance. Like I’d been sitting here reading the whole time. Like I definitely hadn’t been seconds away from?—
Nope. Not thinking about that.
I grabbed the book on territorial magic from where it had fallen to the floor and cracked it open to a random page, holding it up like a shield. My pulse hammered against my throat, betraying every attempt at composure.
Across the room, Varyth tugged his pants on over his undershorts with movements that were more violence than grace. He didn’t bother lacing them up, just yanked them into place and stalked toward the door with murder written across every line of his body.
His hand hit the door handle. Twisted. Wrenched it open with enough force to make the hinges protest.
“What?”
The single word came out flat. Lethal. The tone of a High Lord who was about three seconds away from doing something he’d probably enjoy but definitely regret.
“Nyxaria reached out.” Darian’s voice, tight with tension.
Every muscle in Varyth’s body went rigid. Perfectly, utterly still in that way that preceded violence or disaster or both.
“What?”
“Can we just—” Fenric sighed, and I could hear the exhaustion in it. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t exactly a hallway conversation.”
A pause. Long enough that I stopped breathing.
“Fine.” Varyth stepped back, opening the door wider. An invitation. Or maybe a threat. With him, it was always hard to tell the difference.
Darian stepped through first, all blonde swagger and leather that probably looked better on him than it had any right to. His eyes swept the room in a single, efficient glance.
They landed on me.
Froze.
Fenric followed half a step behind, those massive red wings folded tight against his back. His gaze found me in the armchair, book held up like it could somehow make this less catastrophically obvious.
His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
Both of them looked at me. Then at Varyth, shirtless, pants barely on, hair mussed, looking like he’d just been interrupted mid-something.
Then back to me.
I stared at my book like the secrets of the universe were written on page forty-seven. Like I absolutely could not see them looking at me. Like I definitely had not just been in that bed with their High Lord doing things that were none of their fucking business.
Darian’s mouth twitched. The bastard was trying not to smile.
Fenric cleared his throat, the sound somehow managing to convey both amusement and deep, profound regret at having to be here right now.
“So.” Darian’s voice carried the kind of neutrality that screamed he was about thirty seconds from laughing. “Sorry to interrupt your... reading session.”
I didn’t look up. “Riveting stuff. Very educational.”
“I can see that.” The smile in the words was absolutely insufferable. “Nothing says ‘academic pursuit’ quite like?—”
