What surprises me is that he opens the door from inside the house. “How the hell?” I question as Modeus parks his bike next to mine.
Egan points up in response.
“Did I leave a window open?” He gives me a barely there nod. He’s not burning up or writhing in pain, so it seems I really need to rethink how much security I thought living on consecrated ground gave me. Not that I would move, I love my place, but maybe I should at least be more careful about leaving shit open.
I brush past Egan and enter the kitchen. I’m starving, and I doubt I have shit here unless we’re having peanut butter sandwiches again. When I open the fridge, Modeus says, “There’s not much in there.”
After closing the door, I cross my arms. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I can go grab something,” the demon offers, lifting his ass up onto my counter by his forearms. I eye him. I remember him putting me up there last night and the feast he had after. My panties are still damp from my last encounter with Egan, which reminds me I could use another shower, or at least a sink and washcloth.
“What sounds good?” I glance between the two of them. Modeus licks his lips, and I swear I feel a shadow of an ache between my legs. “To eat food wise,” I add after clearing my throat.
“Something warm,” Modeus answers. His voice is deeper. He probably already knows my thoughts have turned lascivious.
“You two decide. I’m good with whatever.” I spin to escape. I refuse to let my wanton pussy control my life, plus it gets me out of having to decide what to eat.
CHAPTER12
Lore
The heavy aromaof garlic greets me when I emerge from my room an hour later. My shower didn’t last nearly that long, but arranging my bedroom to accommodate two other people did take some time.
Having all three of us on my king-sized mattress is going to be pushing it. I have a feeling it’s going to be a tight fit, but ideas of how we can make it work fill my head with all kinds of filthy thoughts. By the time I head downstairs, I’m pretty sure the cool shower was a wasted effort.
“Smells great,” I say as I enter the quiet kitchen. There are several cardboard pizza boxes, a huge, clear bowl filled with a salad, and a few other bags on the table in the corner.
“Just in time.” Modeus pulls out a chair for me.
This is probably the most surreal moment of my life. Two days ago, I thought everything was copasetic. Now, here I am. Harlow is dead, I’m the president of the club, and I have two mates I’m about to sit down and have a late dinner with.
Egan takes the seat to my left, while Modeus brings over some plates. “I found the number to this place in your drawer. I told them to quadruple what you ordered last time and got some other shit.”
“Resourceful.” I flip open a box and snag a slice of pizza. Egan opens one of the bags and peers inside before dropping two garlic knots on my plate and a few on his own. Again, this is weird. I’m not used to this kind of thing.
The table is quiet as we all eat, so quiet I can hear myself chewing, and it freaks me out. Their eyes follow me as I get up to flip on the radio. I keep the volume low, but it’s enough to break up the silence.
Slowly, I start to get more comfortable. “I was thinking about visiting Harlow’s property tomorrow.” I push my plate away before Egan can pile any more food on it. His black eyes scan me, then the empty plate with scrutiny. “No more,” I warn when it seems as if he’s not going to take the hint.
He lifts his lip in a slight snarl. It almost makes me laugh.
“What are we looking for?” Modeus brushes off his hands before lifting his beer to his lips. I become mesmerized for a long second on the way his throat works as he swallows.
Forcing myself to look away, I answer, “Anything that seems strange, I guess, or at least something we might have missed.”
Egan wraps his hand around my wrist, calling for my attention. He lifts his brows, asking a question without words.
“It looks like he chose his fate.” I glance at my prince. “But we’re not convinced.” I focus back on Egan. His eyes narrow, as if he’s thinking. I don’t mind that he doesn’t speak—hell, I like that I can interpret so much of what he’s thinking without words—but there are times when I feel like I might miss something.
“Do you have any other way to communicate? Like writing or signing?” I don’t want to make him feel inept, but if he doesn’t, we can work on that.
The fallen shrugs his wide, heavy shoulders, and I don’t know how to take it.
“He would have been born with the knowledge of how to read and write in many languages,” Modeus answers for him.
I raise my brows at Egan, asking if that’s true. He flips his free hand outward, and his lip curls in distaste. “You don’t like it or want to,” I supply.
He tips his head once and taps two of his fingers on the underside of my wrist, which he is still holding. I let out a chuckle at his honesty but rein it in quickly. “There might be a time when it’s necessary,” I caution.
