Tate crossed the room in a few powerful strides, grabbing one of the twins, Pax, and tossing him behind her. Willa evaded her reach, scooping up an armful of the tarts and scurrying off the buffet table.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Tate growled following her. “You stole them all yesterday too. It’s my turn today.”
“Off dkaf voaltr sgkfps.” To most, Willa’s garbled words would be unintelligible, but Tate understood their meaning well enough. To the victor goes the spoils. She should, considering she was the one who first started using that saying.
“Not today, brat.” Tate was quicker than Willa, snagging her by the back of the neck and lifting her up.
Pax yowled, throwing himself at Tate’s leg.
She snarled at the pinpricks of pain as he dug his claws into her clothes, trying to climb her in the same way he would a tree.
“Get off, get off. Not the claws, what did I tell you about the claws?” Tate screamed.
There was a thump from the dining room door and the three of them froze in place. Dewdrop glared at them, panting.
Like Tate, he’d just woken up. His shirt was half buttoned and only one sleeve of his jacket was on. His pants lacked a belt and he had one shoe-clad foot while the other was missing both shoe and sock.
His gaze locked on Willa where she dangled in Tate’s hand, the tarts still cradled to her chest.
“Oh no,” Tate said at his audible inhale.
Pax used her as a springboard, leaping away. Tate dropped Willa and dove for the floor at the same time a screech sounded above her. She swore and covered her ears.
“Not in the dining room!”
The banshee scream stopped. Seconds later, the sound of scampering feet came.
“Block the door. Don’t let them escape,” Tate yelled.
Dewdrop crouched; his arms spread wide as Pax ran toward him.
Some might call Tate cruel for trying to take food from the children—but those people didn’t know the twins. They were bottomless pits of hunger who would consume everything in the house, leaving nothing for anyone else—except maybe their father. And then only if he caught them in the act.
Other people also didn’t have a dragon ramping up their metabolism, and they’d never tasted the sublime tarts her cook made. They were worth getting a little bloody. Tate would wager even the emperor would get into fisticuffs if he tasted them. They were nirvana come to earth.
While Dewdrop grappled with Pax, Tate snagged Willa.
A roar from the window pulled their attention away from the battle. Willa had one foot pressed against Tate’s face to keep her away from the tarts, while Pax had his teeth embedded in Dewdrop’s arm and Dewdrop was biting Pax’s ear in retaliation.
Night perched on the windowsill, watching them with an expressionless gaze.
Willa extended one of the five tarts she held to Night. The Veles took it carefully before disappearing out the window as silently as he’d come.
“No, not the tarts,” Tate moaned.
Taking advantage of her distraction, Willa wiggled free from Tate’s hold. Jostled by the commotion several tarts fell on the table where she landed.
Sensing victory, Tate dove. She snagged one and stuffed it in her mouth before either of the other three could take it from her. Dewdrop and Pax scrambled forward as Willa raced for the window Night had left open.
Pax grabbed two of the remaining tarts and followed his sister.
Dewdrop grabbed the last and stuffed it half in his mouth.
“Get back here,” Tate yelled, giving chase. “You had your fill. Those are ours.”
They disappeared out the window with the last two tarts.
“You really should do something about those two.” Dewdrop rested the side of his face against the table as he munched happily on his tart.
