My stomach does something uncomfortable. A small twist, like the first hint of food poisoning. "Regularly?"
Silas looks up from his book, expression mild. "Knox especially. He goes through phases where he'll have someone new up there every few nights."
The coffee mug slips a little in my hand. I catch it before it falls, but some of the coffee sloshes over the rim onto my fingers. Hot. I barely feel it.
"Not lately though," Ezra adds, like that's supposed to help. Like that's supposed to make it better. "Been a few weeks since the last one."
A few weeks.
I walked into the bar less than a week ago.
"Oh," I manage. My voice sounds strange. Distant.
"The clothes are sorted by size," Silas says helpfully, gesturing toward the drawer with his tea cup. "Smalls are on the left. Though Knox usually goes for bigger guys, so there might not be much in your size—"
"It's fine." I hear myself say. "Vaughn's stuff is fine."
I pour coffee with hands that barely shake. Add sugar from the container on the bar. Stir. Normal things. Normal movements. The spoon clinks against the ceramic in a steady rhythm. Clink. Clink. Clink.
"The last guy was a wolf," Ezra says conversationally, still focused on his inventory. "From the Riverside pack. He was here for like three days straight. We started taking bets on whether Knox would ever let him leave."
Three days.
Did Knox call him sunshine too? Did he run him baths and feed him fruit and saymineover and over like it meant something? Did he look at that wolf with golden eyes and promise to catch him if he fell?
"You okay?" Silas asks. "You look a little pale."
"Just sore," I say, and they both laugh.
"Yeah, Knox can be intense," Ezra agrees, finally looking up with a grin. "At least you survived. This one bear shifter actually had to go to the hospital once. Something about not being able to walk for a week."
They're laughing about it.
Like it's a funny story. Like Knox fucking someone so hard they needed medical attention is just a normal Tuesday. Like this is all just... casual. Expected. Business as usual.
Because it is, isn't it?
This is what Knox does. He finds someone, fucks them senseless, calls them pretty names, and then they leave wearing clothes from the communal hookup drawer.
I'm not special. I'm just the latest in a long line of people Knox has fucked into incoherence in that apartment. The only difference is I'm human. Probably a novelty—something new and breakable for the big scary lion to play with.
How fun for him.
My lion knew the second you walked through that door, he said. That simple, he said.
Yeah. Simple. Because he's done this before. Over and over. He has a whole system. A drawer full of spare clothes and a pack who jokes about his conquests and a routine for sending people home after he's done with them.
"I should get dressed," I say. My voice is steady. I'm proud of that. "Don't want to be late for work."
I grab clothes from the drawer—someone else's clothes, left behind by some other person Knox fucked and discarded—and head back toward the stairs. The shirt I pull out is plain black. Medium. Could belong to anyone. Has probably been worn by a dozen different people doing the walk of shame out of Knox's bed.
"Hey," Ezra calls after me. "You want breakfast? We've got eggs, bacon—"
"I'm good. Thanks."
I make it to the bathroom near the stairs before my legs give out. Not from soreness this time. I lean against the sink, staring at myself in the mirror.
Knox's shirt hangs off my shoulder, exposing the massive bite mark he left there. The one he said would scar. Permanent, he called it. Mine.
