I kiss the end of his nose, and then – with a lot of reluctance and a lot of self-will – I force myself from his arms and out of the bed. I’m still sticky from last night, but I don’t exactly have time for a shower, so I find my abandoned clothes from yesterday and dress, forcing one of Thorne’s giant sweaters over my head in the hope it will disguise the fact I haven’t changed my clothes from last night.
And then I hesitate.
Thorne is still in his bed, laid out on his back, arms tucked behind his head, looking the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, and it issoseverely tempting to slip back into bed with him, climb onto him, and take advantage of that hard cock.
But we have a situation, and people are counting on me. Sometimes my life seriously sucks.
Instead, I pad back over, kiss him one more time, then head toward the door.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
“In a moment,” he says.
I blow him one last kiss and set off downstairs, hearing many voices in the kitchen and wondering who exactly these visitors are.
When I step inside, I find everyone sitting around the kitchen table – Beaufort, Dray, the Professor, but also Fly, perched onthe lap of the redhead, Clare, Damien, Naomi (Esme Jones’s girlfriend), and two of her friends.
“Finally!” Dray says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I know they say once you pop, you can’t stop, but you’ve been fucking that?—”
I give my shifter mate a hard stare. He grins at me but shuts his mouth.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say, feeling all their eyes on me and feeling incredibly self-conscious. Not only because Dray has now announced to everyone gathered what I’ve been up to for the last few hours, but also because everyone is still expecting me to come up with all the answers – and I’m not sure I have any to give.
I take a seat at the table, and Beaufort slides me a plate full of toast and a hot cup of coffee.
Fly is definitely looking recovered from his ordeal yesterday. In fact, he looks the happiest I may have ever seen him – seriously loved-up, and if the flush on his cheeks is anything to go by, I’m betting he spent his last few hours in a similar manner to me.
I take a big gulp of the coffee as Clare says, “Naomi wanted to speak to you, Briony.”
I smile at her and she manages a little smile of her own.
“How are you doing?” I say to her, sympathetically. The death of her girlfriend is still so recent and I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for her.
“How am I doing?” she says, with a shake of her head. “Surely I should be asking you that!”
“Yeah,” I admit, “it’s been a lot.”
Naomi mirrors my sympathetic smile. “These are my friends; Mark and Sonya. I hope you don’t mind me bringing them along.”
“Of course not,” I say.
“We came for moral support,” the boy called Mark adds.
“Oh.” I snap a piece of toast in half. “Am I that scary then?”
“You have a dragon,” Fly says. “You did that…” he waves his hand in the air, “impressive thing yesterday. And your boyfriend?” He thumbs in Dray’s direction.
We all swing our gaze to find Dray – the same man who ripped out the throat of Silas Sterling yesterday. He’s mid-bite of a piece of toast that’s overflowing with red sticky jam.
“Yeah, you’re freaking terrifying, Cupcake,” Fly concludes.
I stick my tongue out at him and return my attention to Naomi.
“Was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?”
Naomi glances at her two friends, who nod eagerly at her, clearly encouraging her to go on. She swallows, fiddles with the cuffs of her sleeves, and then says:
“It’s about Esme.”
