“It’s a temporary arrangement.”
“You slept together in Ember’s loft. The pheromones are still very strong.”
I blush from the top of my ears to my fucking toes. I didn’t even think about the fact that our pheromones would be all over the house with how much sex we’ve been having in the last week. Someone kill me now. Please.
“Yes, but…”
“And you smell like each other.”
“But… we haven’t formalized anything yet,” I choke.
“Denial from a fated mate is common at this stage. My husband, Ahmose, was the same.” She pats my cheek a little condescendingly.
Ember nods solemnly and crosses his arms. Ahmose just sighs heavily.
“Amina, darling, give the young man a break.” He turns to Ember, bringing him in for a tight hug. “It is good to see you so happy, Kunya.”
“So,” Amina says brightly, gaze sharpening, “tell me about the brother.”
“Ember told you about that?” I ask, my stomach dropping.
“Of course, he told us about that. You don’t stay as close as we do for centuries on end by holding important information away from family. We tell each other everything! Don’t we, Kunya?” she asks, pinching his cheek.
“Mother,” he mutters, his face flushing adorably with embarrassment.
“What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “Your mate is being harassed by a relative who is jealous of what he has accomplished in the short amount of time that he has been alive. He needs help, and we are here to lend support.”
“We’re not…” I try to protest weakly.
“Hush, you,” she says with a small smile.
“What exactly is the situation?” Ahmose asks, his voice laced with restrained anger.
Ember looks at me, waiting for me to accept or reject their thoughtful help.
I’m not used to having people in my corner, willing to fight for me. It’s an interesting feeling, not being completely alone. I could get used to this.
I tell them everything, going into detail about the protest and the lies. Ember adds his two cents about the microphone and terrible undead chanting, laughing at the memory until Amina chastises him sternly for laughing at my pain.
By the time I finish, my future in-laws are furious.
“That son-of-a-biscuit-eating bull dog,” Amina growls.
“Mother…”
“No,” she cuts him off with a slice of her hand. “We do not tolerate disrespect toward family.”
“But we aren’t…”
She whips around to look me in the eyes, silencing my objections to being called Ember’s mate once again.
“Sweetheart.”
“Ma’am?”
“May I please have your parents’ phone number?”
“Why?” I blink, confused at the turn in the conversation.
