My mind snaps back to the owl skull that sucked me into that demon-marked cage and then ultimately helped me break out of it.
“Some undercover Order members were watching the morgue itself, but they stopped about four days ago—we think because too much time had passed,” he says with a hint of apology in his tone. I wave it away. “Rogan and Elon had to stay away because we didn’t want to draw attention to anything. I was keeping an eye out through Siobhan and a motion sensitive camera I snuck in, but the battery died a couple hours before you must have woken up. I only found out that something had happened, because Siobhan got a notification that the temperature of the holding fridges had gone up. That’s only supposed to happen when they’re empty, they’re magically designed that way. She thought it was a glitch, and I conveniently offered to accompany her while she checked on it. That’s when we discovered you and three others were missing.”
I nod in understanding, not sure if I’m offended or impressed that he took advantage of his relationship in order to protect me.
“I called Rogan right away, thinking someone must have taken you, and I begged Siobhan to give me a couple hours before she reported the missing bodies.”
And alas we come full circle, I muse as all the pieces to the puzzle now fit snugly together.
“I’m assuming you’re here to warn Rogan that the Order, and therefore his evil parents, now know that I’m missing,” I tell him, and he nods his confirmation. “So now we just need to figure out whyhe’shere,” I declare, fixing a glare on Prek.
A groan sounds from the table, and I look over to find Rogan stirring.
Perfect timing.
I rush over to him as his eyes start to flit open. “Hey, you’re okay,” I reassure him as he makes a disgruntled noise and tries to get his bearings. “Prek shot you with a tranquilizer dart,” I explain as he looks around, confused. Lush mossy green eyes lock on mine, and whatever bewilderment was floating in them is chased away by sappy affection.
“Hey, you,” he coos at me, lifting a hand in the direction of my nose. I’m pretty sure he’s going in for a boop, but his hand drops like it weighs a hundred pounds before he can. “Ow,” he grumps when he accidentally slaps himself in the face. Rogan glares at his knuckles but then looks back to me, and a lovesick smile stretches across his face. “You are the most beautiful soul I have ever seen,” he tells me, his tone serious and reverent.
A current of tenderness flashes through me, and a fluttering sensation starts low in my stomach.
“I just want to eat you,” he goes on, the words slightly slurred.
Oh boy.
“Especially that nose, no, definitely those lips. Your hair drives me beyond the brink of madness. I’ve never wanted to eat someone just because they’re so cute. Not just cute though, like cute in a sexy as fuck kind of way,” he announces on a titillating growl that sneaks into my body and settles warmly between my thighs. “Can I eat you?” he asks on an adorable pout, and I cover my mouth with my hand to try and trap in the laughter there. “I mean, not like that,” he adds, wagging his eyebrows. It clearly takes way more effort than it should, and he concentrates hard on the movement. “I wouldn’t actually eat your gorgeous face, but I would like to dine on that pussy. Table for one,” he announces, lifting a hand like he’s calling for a waiter.
“Ooookaaayyy,” I exclaim loudly, straightening up and trying to fight the blush that’s inching into my cheeks.
Marx laughs hard, and Rogan’s eyes snap to him. “Heyyyy, buddy,” he offers him in greeting, and Marx looks like this is the best thing ever.
Rogan is drugged out of his gourd, and it’s better than anycoming out of anesthesiavideo I’ve ever seen online.
He tries to sit up, and I rush to help. Damn, all that muscle is heavy. I grunt as he suddenly stops supporting his own weight, and we almost tip over. Marx hurries over and helps me get him upright on the table.
“You’re so damn pretty,” Rogan practically shouts, and then his volume must register, because he cringes and brings a finger up to his mouthto sayshhhhhas though Marx and I are the loud ones.
He turns to his friend. “Isn’t she just the most astonishing thing you’ve ever seen?” he asks Marx, and I chuckle at the weird high pitch to his voice. It has this goofy innocence to it that makes me want to sayawww, but also makes me want to record it so I can make fun of him about this later. “And it’s not just outside, my frrriennnn,” Rogan implores, momentarily getting distracted by his finger for some reason. “No, sir, she’s stunning on the outsideandon the inside. Bro, you should see her body!” he whisper yells, and I can’t help the twitter that escapes me.
“What?” Rogan suddenly demands. “How dare you,” he accuses, as though Marx were the one to suggest checking out my body and not him. “I love you, Marx, but I will kick your ass. I already have to fuck up that wolf,Saaaxooon,” he announces, mocking the name. “Fucker kissed her twice, bro, twice,” he growls as he holds up three fingers. “Never wanted to kill someone so badly in my life, and my parents renounced me! That’s fucking legit, man!”
Marx looks over at me and raises a judgmental eyebrow. I roll my eyes. “Puh-lease, yourbroRogan wasn’t even on my radar at the time,” I defend, not able to stop myself from making fun of all the bro-ing.
Rogan’s hand shoots up into the air, and he shakes it impatiently like he’s waiting to be called on. Marx laughs as he calls on him.
“Not true for six-hundred, Alex,” he calls out, like we’re suddenly onJeopardy. “I was all over that radar: we kissed in the kitchen, there were talks of a safe word, secrets were told,” he counters, and Marx chokes on air at that declaration.
I huff out an exasperated groan that morphs into a chuckle at the end because this is all so ridiculous and yet utterly amusing. We have an unconscious Order member tied up in a chair, and I’m here defending my relationship or the lack thereof when I kissed a lycan twice.
“Wedidkiss in the kitchen, and then you screwed me over at your aunt’s cottage. The betrayal negates anything that had been building between us before then. I was well within my rights to kiss Saxon,” I justify.
Rogan looks to Marx as though he’s waiting for his ruling. Marx shrugs. “She has a point,” he concedes, and Rogan groans.
“Iknowshe does. Fucking Saxon. Still gonna kick his ass though,” he grumbles, all pouty and disgruntled. “But, Lennox,” he calls out. “My little bone flower…” He cringes as the endearment slips out of his full lips. “No, that was just weird,” he mumbles before continuing on. “You’re mine now, right?” he asks, the question both parts boyish and possessive.
“Will someone please shut him up?” a groggy voice groans, and my head snaps to where Prek is tied to my grandmother’s favorite chair.
Russet eyes are fixed on me as Prek lifts his head. “Hello, Osteomancer. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
