I tug on the sweats, hitting the bathroom to pee. I brush my teeth with what appears to be a new toothbrush, though Zaya has used it already.
The house is owned by the Outcast MC as part of the original reclamation of this area. I had intended to fold it into the resort and spa, but the owners of the properties between the resort and here weren’t willing to sell. So it’s operated as secondary housing for the last couple of years, whenever there was a need to settle a new member into the pack.
Not bothering with any other clothing, I slip into the small kitchen off the living space — and find Zaya and Rought full-on making out there. My brother has moved the turkey bacon he’s frying off the stove but hasn’t turned off the gas. Which is not only dangerous, but reminds me that the house still hasn’t been converted to renewable energy. I have plans to extend a geothermal system all up the coastline but haven’t gotten to it yet.
I’m also not certain whether that’s my dominion anymore. I got the resort and restaurant open even while Zaya was missing — with most of the last-minute details in motion before she was taken — because I felt obligated to see it through. But I’m no longer an Outcast. I suspect my focus will need to be much more flexible now. Now that I belong to Zaya again. Now that we have a different life, a different destiny to fulfill.
I flick off the burner, singe my fingers stealing a piece of turkey bacon from the pan, then shoulder my brother to the side so I can kiss Zaya good morning myself.
Rought laughs, leaning away just enough to give me access to our mate but keeping his hand on her hip.
Zaya angles her head to accept my kiss, smiling so brightly that it hurts my heart — in a good way, but also with a deep pang of all the loss that stretches between now and when we first lost her. Feeling the need to be gentle, I deliberately soften the kiss, then feed her a bite of my purloined bacon.
She hums, pleased. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, mate.” I eat the rest of the bacon. “Needs to be crispier.”
“I’m still cooking it,” Rought says easily, practically radiating fucking joy as he puts the bacon over the heat again and starts whipping what appears to be at least a dozen eggs in a large metal bowl.
“Broil it in the oven,” I say, reaching up to press my hand to Zaya’s cheek as I hold her gaze for a moment more.
Rought huffs. “You want breakfast your way, then you shouldn’t have been lazing around in bed all morning.”
A quick glance at the clock on the stove confirms it’s just after 7:00 a.m. To-go coffee cups and what I assume is a bag of pastries sit on the table where Zaya cajoled me into fucking her, even though I’d carried her inside with far different intentions.
I understand that need now, the fierce need to anchor our connection as quickly as possible. We’re not teenagers. And given the shit with my fucking sperm donor, Zaya and I also don’t have the luxury of slowly building our bond.
Zaya slides her hand down my chest, instantly focusing my attention where it should be. “You owe me a story.”
“Food first,” I say, though I’m suddenly uneasy about sharing a story that no one else knows — as requested — in the light of day.
“I’m taking care of that,” Rought says.
Zaya slides between us — the kitchen is actually that tight — and seems to have no problem taking advantage of that, because she rubs her breasts against me while very obviously copping a feel of Rought’s ass behind her. He laughs, pouring the eggs into a hot pan.
I make a show of glowering at Zaya’s actions, which only serves to feed her obvious glee. Her smile is wide, eyes sparkling.
But seriously, I had forgotten what being perpetually half-hard around Zaya felt like, especially in sweatpants. I need some tight boxers. Or tighter pants, I think as I eye Rought’s jeans. My leathers would do, but I suspect I won’t be wearing them much anymore, at least when I’m not on my bike.
Zaya opens the bag of pastries, selecting a plain croissant and a pain au chocolat but ignoring the coffees. She still doesn’t drink it.
Both Rought and I watch her like we can’t bear to look away as she wanders to the back patio door, eating the pain au chocolat and leaving shards of pastry in her wake. The broken door has already been repaired, presumably thanks to Rought.
A hulking, green-furred beast is sprawled out on the patio beyond the doors. The cu-sith. No hint of Reck in his slitted red eyes or in the muted energy emanating from the beast.
I open my mouth to caution Zaya, a moment away from darting forward and pulling her back. Still scrambling the eggs, Rought kicks my shin hard enough to seriously hurt, though thankfully, he’s not wearing shoes.
I close my mouth, feeling a little lightheaded. I watch as Zaya opens the patio door and feeds the fucking plain croissant to the fucking murderous creature beyond. They stare at each other for a moment, then Zaya turns away, leaving the door wide open. Not that a glass patio door is stopping the cu-sith from joining us at the breakfast table if he wants to.
Carrying the eggs and bacon, Rought crosses to the table. I grab three plates and some utensils and follow him.
Zaya slides into a chair with her back to the fucking beast at the door, as if he’s some tame creature. The cu-sith stretches his legs through the open door and into the house, leaving the bulk of his body on the patio, then lays his head down — like he’s actually a fucking puppy. His red-hued gaze remains riveted to Zaya.
I open my mouth again.
Rought elbows me in the ribs this time, covering the motion by grabbing the utensils. The blow is hard enough to make me lose my breath.
How is he not seeing what I’m seeing? Reck on his own is dangerous and unpredictable. The cu-sith unleashed — literally, because it’s obvious that Reck’s consciousness is seriously subsumed at the moment — is a mass murderer perpetually poised on the edge of utter chaos.
