“You mentioned it,” I say. “But you know… you can tell me again. I don’t mind.”
I reach out and stroke my fingers down his beautiful face, and it’s as I do that I spot it in the twinkling, flickering candlelight of his room: marks across my wrists.
I gasp.
“Thorne?” I say. “Look!”
He rolls off me, lies down by my side, and cradles my wrist in his hands. We both stare at the dark patterns that dance across my wrists, lit up by the orange light of the candles. I lift my other arm and it’s the same. The marks are there too. They weren’t there moments ago, and they’re so dark, like the ink that stains Dray’s body.
Thorne lifts his arms so his wrists hover alongside mine, and the patterns are the same. Identical.
I’m always looking at the marks on these men’s wrists. Yet I’d never been able to make sense of them before. I thought they were erratic, nonsensical, random.
Now I see something in the patterns. In the dim light, I think I understand what they are.
Flames of light and swirls of shadow mixing together, intertwining, connected in a way that makes it impossible to determine where one starts and one ends. And it makes perfectsense to me. It describes the five of us so perfectly. This is what we are. Light and shadow combined.
I’d happily stay in bed with Thorne for the rest of the next morning, the afternoon, and all the way through to the next night too. But I’m guessing the others have other plans, because we’re rudely awakened by a fist hammering on the door as morning light creeps into the room.
“You lovebirds up yet?” Dray calls through the door.
“What time is it?” I groan. Automatically, I squirm, finding myself encased in Thorne’s warm embrace, a very welcome hard cock nudging at my backside – one I would definitely be taking advantage of if I could.
“It’s already 9 a.m.,” he says. “And we’ve been waiting for you for hours now.”
“Seriously?” I say skeptically, as Thorne nuzzles my neck, ignoring his bond brother altogether.
“Seriously. We have visitors. So enough – whatever the hell you’re doing in there. Whatareyou doing in there?”
“None of your business,” I call out.
“Oh yeah,” he says with eagerness.
“Yes,” I repeat, “none of your business.”
“Well, whatever. We’ve got visitors and they’ve been waiting fucking ages. So untangle yourself from Thorne Cadieux,” Dray says. “Put some damn clothes on, Little Kitten, and come downstairs.” I groan. “You want me to send Beaufort up here?” Dray threatens.
“No,” I mutter.
“I’m giving you five minutes,” he warns, and then I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway.
I spin in Thorne’s arms.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he responds.
“I really don’t want to get up.”
“No,” he says, kissing me, and for a moment, we both forget Dray’s warning.
But then there’s a yell from down the stairs.
“I’m serious, guys. Get the fuck up!”
“I really hate him sometimes,” Thorne mutters.
“No you don’t,” I say. “You love him. Just like you love me.”
