I get along with her. She doesn’t judge me. And I appreciate that. I need that gentleness.
Whatdidthe men talk about last night? Apparently, several complained that it was too cold to hold church in the regular space, so they piled into Chaos’s office as Jezabel and I carried bedding out to this room. A dozen or so men, all grim-faced and exhausted already when the fight had barely begun.
Gaze roaming over Molly again, I trace the lines of light that cast her body in stripes. Dawn came while I was asleep, as didthe bone-weary realization that my time here grows to an end. Now that the men have decided on their next course of action, I have no reason to stay. No use to them anymore.
The only option is to move on. Hopefully, with a debt that’s paid.If it ever existed at all.
I inhale deeply, air whistling through one nostril, and roll to my back. I should get up. Steal a shower while the majority no doubt sleep off a long night of deliberation. But caffeine withdrawals demand I swing past the kitchen first.Fingers crossed I’m the only one there.
It feels like we’re two separate entities—the girls and me. The liar. The traitor.
They tried, at Vanessa’s last night, to reconcile. But I really think it was Anna’s presence that kept the conversation civil. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife; poor Vanessa left, giving the three of us furtive glances when she thought nobody was looking. She did a nice thing for us; it was just unfortunately timed.
My gaze slips to the new burner phone, resting atop the dresser. He never tried to call again—not that I expected him to. But there’s a niggling bud of truth that I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try: my father is the only person who can help me decide what comes next.
The only person who understands why I was put in harm’s way when the Devil’s Breedknewwho I was.
I carefully peel back the covers, shiver a little at the chill in the room, and reach for the warmth of the borrowed jersey. Tugging it over my head, I wait a moment for my residual body heat to warm it up before continuing. My jeans are rough and chafe against my cold skin, but it’ll have to do.
Molly rolls in her sleep, sighing before she curls tighter and continues to rest.
I creep past her setup and slip out the door. The morning chill slaps me hard, pinking my exposed skin. The air is icy, and remnants of frost sparkle on the ground as I dash across the concrete path and into the farmhouse, an involuntary full-body shiver rattling me after I close myself inside.
My gaze locks onto Loki’s.
Andhis.
“You want a coffee to warm you up?” Loki lifts his mug where he sits at the table past the galley-style kitchen.
Fang doesn’t blink beside him, predatory gaze locked on my chest.Right.I cross my arms to hide the twin evidence of how fucking cold it is out there.
“Sure.”
Loki nods toward the cabinets. “Pot’s hot. You know where everything is.”
Of course.
Fang sits with one elbow on the table, fist covering his mouth as though stuck in thought.
I don’t know what I expected today, other than not to feel so bad about hurting his feelings. All he’s done in his efforts to deny what he wants is wound me emotionally, and yet, I can’t help feeling about it like one would being bitten by a stray dog.
He’s callous to protect himself. His aggression comes from his fear, not his heart.
I’m not sure where we stand. Believing he wholeheartedly hated me was so much easier. But then he kissed me—once, twice, three times, and tangled the truth in his wicked touch. Why did he push past all the goddamn warning signs last night? Was it intended as a one-off moment born from a stressful event? Or did he have honest intentions of making it more?
The way he studies me now, I’d say so.
Not that it matters.
Stomach doing somersaults, I turn my back to the men and retrieve a mug. It doesn’t change a thing, acknowledging the sexual attraction between Fang and me. I’m still the mutt of a Breed officer, and he can’t undo the DNA in him that sees me as the enemy. Lust will only get you so far before relationships require deeper connection. I mean, if I allow myself to be delusional for a moment: could I imagine us living together? Having a child of our own? Growing old, content with one another’s company?
Not as long as he sees the shadow of a three-headed dog on my back.
“Who’s making breakfast this morning?”
I startle when an older man wanders into the room from the parlor. He absently scratches at his bare belly, shirtless and covered only by a patchwork of fading ink hidden behind greying chest hair. He seems familiar.
The man’s eyes drift to me as I pour my coffee.
