I can’t run off half-cocked. I’m not stupid. I’ll need to heal. Need survivor supplies. Maybe I’ll luck out and find a phone.
In the meantime, I’ll milk these five days for all they’re worth.
“Anything else you need?” Raphael asks, arms crossed over his chest.
I look up at the cap. And smile.
A few minutes later,I descend the staircase, wincing at the pain. Jude takes my arm, offering his support. The smell coming from the kitchen is amazing! I guess he was right about Rory being a good cook.
The staircase opens right into the kitchen. Vincent and Seth are setting the table when I emerge.
“Holy fuck!” exclaims Seth, dropping the silverware onto the table. His eyes gleam as they roam across me. I can’t help but feel a smile curving my lips.
Vincent pauses, too, giving me a once-over. A muscle bounces in his jaw, but aside from that, he doesn’t react. He just goes back to laying out the plates.
Seth wanders over, nodding to my head. “Is she wearing his?—”
Jude chuckles, playing with a few of my curls. “That she is.”
I make a show of tugging the tip of the newsboy cap. To be fair, Raphael did ask if I wanted anything else. I was just surprised when he didn’t stop me from taking his hat. I pulled my damp curls into a messy half-braid, leaving some hair loose and free.
“Aww, don’t ye look sweet with my teeth marks on your chest, Lass,” Rory says from the kitchen, holding a wooden cooking spoon before returning to the stove top.
His eyes glint with satisfaction as he tilts the pan, spilling the hollandaise sauce like a golden ribbon over the perfectly poached eggs, crisp bacon, and fluffy English muffin. His fingersmove with skill, too practiced and controlled for a man who gets such a thrill from whippingandfucking so violently.
A beep signals, and I eye him as he turns the stove off, then slides over to the waffle iron on the counter. On the right-hand side, a plate sits, stacked high with Belgian waffles.
Jude helps me to the table, pulling out a chair for me. While I’m a little surprised, I don’t bring up how it’s the opposite end of the table…across from Raphael at the head. Has it beenemptyall this time?
Seth sits directly to my left, Jude to my right, with Vincent on his right. Rory’s chair must be the one diagonal to me. Yeah, I imagine Seth and Raphael are the only ones who could have Rory between them.
With a flourish, Rory sets two plates before me, and my mouth waters at the scent of warm strawberries mingling with the buttery richness of the hollandaise. He drizzles the berries over the golden Belgian waffle, their juices seeping into the crisp edges, then dusts a light snowfall of powdered sugar across the top. He even adds a sprig of thyme before making an exaggerated motion of kissing his fingertips. Even the eggs Benedict seem to gleam with the velvet sauce.
Rory takes his seat. But before I can lift my fork, Jude takes my hand. The others follow suit, hands uniting.
My brows lift with surprise as Jude clears his throat, his voice deep and steady. “We give thanks for the harvest, the hands that prepared this meal, and the blood that binds us.” Then, after a slight pause, his gaze flicks toward me. “And for our Queen, who has taken her rightful place at our table.”
My fingers tighten around the fork, but I say nothing. The wordQueenlingers in the air, settling over me like a weight I don’t know if I want to carry. None of them seems to expect a response, though. They just watch, waiting.
“My hands prepared the meal.” Rory winks, flashing his fingers at me. “Wouldn’t you love to know where they’ve been, little Lass?”
“I know where they will be if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Vincent mutters from his side of the table and digs into his food.
Holding back a smile, I cut into the waffle, scooping up a bite heavy with strawberries and sugar, and slide it past my lips. The flavors explode—rich, tart, sweet, perfectly balanced. I almost melt until I notice Rory’s eyes glued to me, his food untouched like the others.
Taking a bite of the eggs Benedict, I pretend to consider. I look at Raphael. Should’ve figured his eyes were already on mine. I’m still considering, but he nods firmly to me, already predicting my judgment.
Finally, I shrug and turn to Rory, smiling sweetly. “It’s truly a comfort to know you have some talent other than being a giant dick all the time.”
The others ripple breathy laughter.
A sharp grin splits across Rory’s face. “Careful, Firecracker. Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might start to think yelikeme.”
“None of us like you,” Jude adds, cutting a small portion of his eggs. “Except Seth, of course.”
“I like everyone.” The lumberjack winks at me, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. I blush because he looks so handsome with his hair tousled to one side, and the red plaid shirt suits him. Not that I’m ready to forgive him. Or any of them.
I still have plans to set in order. I’ll start with Rory.
