He grins. “I meant thefondling a man’sasspart.”
I try to wriggle out from between them before I begin to sweat from how hard I blush, but the mattress is so soft that I merely get bogged down.
“Are we getting you hot and bothered?” Phoebus all but cackles.
“No,” I reply, while my face steams. “This bed is huge. Must you crowd me?”
Phoebus turns onto his side, and so does Sybille. They both wrap one arm around my torso, extending their hands to reach each other’s waist, until we are bound as tight as the Crow tome on my nightstand.
“And some men like more than a finger—”
“Phoebus,” I hiss.
“Just trying to teach you ladies the way to a man’s—”
“—ass?” Syb interjects.
He shoots her a crooked grin. “I was going to sayheart.”
“Sure you were.” Sybille lets out a rickety laugh that peters out too fast, replaced by a lung-racking sob.
Although discussing sex was her idea—a way to not only avoid dwelling on her sister and Riccio, but also to learn all I was willing to share about my fledgling relationship with Lore—it has not uprooted her sorrow and anxiety, merely buried both under a thin layer of dirt.
“Gods, I missed us,” she croaks.
“I missed us more,” I say.
“I missed us most.” Phoebus tosses me a look. “After all, I was the highland castaway.” He’s undoubtedly intending to appear vexed, but his eyes are so watery, they don’t retain his exasperation, only his love.
Although I can hardly move, I bend my arms and wrap my fingers around either one’s forearms. “To never being apart again.”
“Hear, hear,” they say in unison.
Our embrace tightens, and although I know life will get in the way, because life always does, I pray to the Cauldron that our friendship will thrive for centuries to come.
When Syb begins to cry silently, I release Phoebus’s arm and twist onto my side to slip both my arms around her shaking body and pull her into me, and then Phoebus pulls us both into him. We must drift off, all tangled together, because the next thing I know, a disturbance in the air whisks my lids up.
Moonlight espouses the dark edges of my mate’s leather armor and ignites his golden gaze as he stands over my bed, watching us with a soft smile.
I didn’t mean to wake you, Little Bird.
My friends must sense his presence because they both stir, and then Phoebus flops onto his back with a groan while Syb scrubs at her swollen lids.
“Oh my Gods”—she rolls up into a sitting position—“what time is it?”
“Nearing ten in the evening,” Lore answers.
“Ugh. I’m the worst girlfriend. I shouldn’t have left Mattia alone all this time.” She turns back toward me, then leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Love you. Whatever the hour, wake me for breakfast, all right?” She blows Phoebus a kiss before hopping out of bed and heading to the door in her crumpled red dress. “Mórrgaht, any news from Cian?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid. The second I hear anything, I will tell you.”
“No matter the time.” Her voice rattles with distress.
“No matter the time, Sybille.”
Sighing deeply, she murmurs, “Goodnight, Lore. And thank you for letting us stay.”
Although Lorcan nods, his eyes don’t stray to her; they stay on me.
