“Missed you, beloved.” Koa’s sigh gusted across my right ear.
“Missed you, too, husbands.” I squirmed until I could press my smile into Casimir’s throat. “Welcome home.”
“Told you she’d be waiting, didn’t I?” Zane purred.
“Sleep, beloved,” Koa whispered. “I’ll watch the shadows.”
“And I’ll watch Ko watching shadows. Somebody’s gotta chaperone Mr. Broody Mc—”
The pillow hit Zane’s face with a downythwump. As his indignant sputters dissolved into muffled laughter, I let their bickering lull me deeper into the tangle of limbs and scents and warmth. Brumous’ snores counted time with Casimir’s steady heartbeat, Koa’s protective grip never loosening even as his breathing slowed. Just before sleep pulled me under again, Zane’s pinky finger found mine, hooking our hands together.
“G’night, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Love you.”
“Love you forever, Zoodle,” I pushed out on slow puffs of air, already on the doorstep of dreamland.
“Wait. What?Zoodle? Seri, no. You’re joking. Are you serious right now? Youcan’tbe serious. Zoodle isn’t even a word. Serafina! Iknowyou’re not really asleep—”
33. Rictus of Death
Arabesque
The box arrived without preamble. Square, plain, and red at the corners.
I sensed the reek of death long before my fingers brushed the wood, its iron scent curling through my office. The rogue standing in the corner shifted uneasily, his hackles rising, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t dare with my mood already an unlit fuse.
A gesture, no more than a flick of my fingers, and the wood yawned open.
The stench rolled out thick and coppery, staining the air. Inside, nestled like a grotesque jewel, was what remained of Claudio. His face was frozen in a rictus of death, his throat cut cleanly on the line of his scar. But it was his forehead that stilled me.
A single phrase, carved deep, the blood dried to rust.
For Seri.
A breath. Slow. Unshaken. I felt the smile before I wore it, cold and fine as the edge of a blade.
“Daughters,” I called, my voice sweet as summer wine and soft as velvet dusk.
As I waited, my nails grazed the box’s edge, and the wood hissed beneath my touch.
Another quiver of movement from the corner and Foster Collins, my newest werewolf pet, stepped forward, his voice uncertain.
“You want me to—”
I turned my head just enough for him to see my eyes. He swallowed the rest of his sentence and stepped back.
As he should.
If he was to succeed Claudio, he needed to know his place.
So. The Cimmerians think they’ve scored a victory.
The heat behind my smile grew, a slow bloom of fire in my chest.
My girls came slinking in, sly gazes sliding over Foster with a hunger that not even our new young staff seemed able to quench.
Amabel first with a pantherine glide, her dark eyes lidded with that quiet, cultured cruelty that made men forget their prayers. And Eluned, giddy and graceless, hopping beside her sister, her eyes too bright, her smile too wide.
In perfect, eerie harmony, they asked, “Yes, Mother?”
