“There are eggs on the stove.” He gives me a soft, peaceful smile that catches me off guard.
I blink. “Where are Min and Leonard? I thought they would’ve been up at the ass crack of dawn.”
“They went out for supplies.”
I cross to the kitchen and lift the lid off a pot to find the promised eggs. “Did you make this?”
He waves it off. “You’ve had enough to deal with. Figured you’d need something to eat.”
I honestly don’t know what to say. “Thank you.” I point to the apron covered in cupcakes hanging on the door. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Please tell me you wore that cutesy apron while you cooked.”
His mouth quirks into a half-smile. “No. But I can next time, if you’d like.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m blushing. Gods. I can’t remember the last time I blushed. I duck my head, and Marcus catches my eye. He sees it.
Worse, he smiles.
I give him my back and focus on filling my plate so he doesn’t see the blush turn darker.
14
MARCUS
“I’d put my cock on the block that says the Scarlet coven would have anything to do with this. They have too much to lose if something happens to us,” Leonard says.
“I agree. They’ve been under our family’s protection for over a hundred and fifty years now. We can rule them out.” I stand with the red Sharpie poised in my hand like a weapon. The scent of ink curls sharply in my nose. Yesterday’s wall was a disaster, scribbles and strings and scraps. A mirror of how my mind feels at the moment. At least Min and Leonard brought back real supplies to sort out the mess.
But even with fresh boards and tidy lines, it still looks like chaos to me. Names blur together in a storm of enemies, all clawing for space, none more guilty than the next. It’s controlled, maybe. Organized, if you squint. But chaos is chaos, no matter how neat the edges.
My wolf shifts uneasily beneath my skin, hackles prickling. Every name feels like a threat. Every line drawn feels temporary, like the shift of the weather.
“Okay, so the Scarlet coven are fine. What about the Trafalgar trolls?” Esmerelda asks.
“They hate us for sure, but those two are dumb as bricks. They couldn’t come up with a plan that elaborate.”
“Plus, we hire them in the winter, and they need the money,” Leonard pipes up.
“Right. So they can come off the list.”
“Next, political rivals. Who benefits the least from our deaths?” Esmerelda asks.
I open my mouth to answer when a low hum rattles against my hip. My phone vibrating in my pocket. The sound scrapes through the silence like an unwelcome intruder. It’s been suspiciously quiet these last few days. I told myself people were simply giving us space and respecting the mourning period.
But now, with the sudden buzz thrumming against my leg, I’m not so sure. I can’t tell if this is kindness from the outside world or if everyone’s just been holding their breath, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
I take my phone out and lift it to my ear. “Marcus Benyamina speaking.”
“Oh, Mr. Benyamina. My sincerest apologies for calling you directly. I was unable to reach anyone at your offices, and I’m frightfully desperate.”
The woman’s voice quivers through the line, polite but fraying at the edges.
I could tell her the council shut our offices down for a mourning period, but I don’t. “No problem at all, Mrs.…”
“My name is Nerithis Morwena. I am in desperate need of transportation.”
I catch Esmerelda’s eye and tilt my head toward the balcony. She gives the smallest nod, understanding my desire to offer the caller privacy.
I slide my thumb over the privacy screen and step outside. The air hits me immediately. It’s cooler, thicker. I draw it in, steadying myself before tightening my grip on the phone.
