“Right, sorry.” I clear my throat and try again, “And as I was waiting, Kier Darro revealed the real Ryn, and I did what any soul-bound psychopomp would do upon seeing his wounded mate—I went straight to her, because my priority was making sure she was safe.”
His red orbs flare, his secondhand rage over the mishandling of my soul-bond still burning hot in his veins. Honestly, it’s been one of the most comforting and oddly grounding bits about the past few hours, how fiercely protective the otherwise unmoved older psychopomp has reacted to Ryn. A small ache forms in my chest, both a sadness that, as far as I’m aware, he’s never had the euphoria of a mate-bond, and a gratefulness that he’s gone to such lengths to safeguard me and mine.
With more determination in my voice, I finish the story we’ve practiced and polished for the official reports over the last couple of hours, “She had been drugged, and required all of my attention. While administering an antidote, I missed what happened regarding the alleged murder. All I know is that the golem of Ryn’s body was dispatched, and the body of her sister, Saskia, was found within the lab. The other two bystanders were unconscious for the duration of these events, and Kier Darro was gone before I turned around. Then backup arrived. I have no further comments at this time, but will answer any questions to the best of my ability.”
“Did you know anything about the hobgoblins surrounding the building that kept our teams distracted? Was any information shared about what the possible motivation could have been for this attack on your mate?”
My head shakes once, “No, sir. Nothing was mentioned about any Unseelie mobs. I had no idea, or I would have alerted the teams when I called for backup, as per protocol. Ryn has been working on a special project, all legitimate with proper permits—it’s just speculation, but I think her family caught wind of it and tried to take advantage.” My teeth grind together as I hesitate to voice the next part, but Hellas’s deliberate hand roll makes me grit out the last bit. “It would seem that Darro acted within his rights as leader of the Unseelie Court, jurisdiction boundaries being expanded in the face of an unruly member committing atrocious acts.”
“Thank you, no further questions at this time.” I watch as he leans forward and turns off the recording device, then runs his hands down his face like he’s done so many times already today. He sighs and sits back, exhaustion pinching his already tight features.
“The review board might still have some questions. Do not, under any circumstances, speak with anyone without me present. And I’ll have to add a week or so onto your community service to avoid any favoritism claims. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I watch as his shoulders slacken some, and he nods absentmindedly. “Not that I’m not grateful, sir, but why are you going out of your way—”
“To help a dipshit like you?” His voice is gruff, but his eyes shine with something I can’t quite put a name to, and I nod.
“You’re a good kid. Stupid, disgustingly naïve, and reckless—but, good.” I smile, despite the insults, and he shakes his head, a little chuckle sneaking past his bravado. He can pretend all he wants, but he knows I’m an amusing bitch and he loves me. “And for her. Claire.”
“Ryn. My mate's name is Ryn.”
His red orbs meet mine, and I watch as they swirl with emotion—a painfully melancholy swirl, rather than his usual irate pattern. Aharrowing pang of understanding makes my breath catch, and then he looks away, haunted. “I know.”
“So—” Oliver takes a hesitant bite of his bran muffin and chews slowly while watching me through squinting eyes, “Community service? For murder?”
Ryn stiffens next to me, and I send some calming vibes and my amusement through our bond to let her know she can retract the claws, then chuckle as I shrug. “To be fair,Ididn’t actually murder anyone.”
Oliver hums, averting his eyes. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t be less subtle if he tried, and Ryn lets out a little disgruntled growling sound. My dick twitches, and I lean back some to give my rapidly hardening cock some wiggle room.
Ryn glances down at my lap from her place next to me and quirks a brow, the tension slowly leaching from her shoulders now that she’s caught on to my game. She rolls her stormy gray eyes at my antics and leans into me, running her hand along my thigh, teasingly close to my very interested cock.
Honestly, almost everything about the way the "investigation" was handled is tickling the little part of me that is an absolute slut for chaos, because it was decidedlynotby the book, and getting to witness Ryn all hot and bothered in my defense appeals to the rest of my slutty little personality.
I clear my throat, chewing on the inside of my cheek, in an attempt to keep the humor out of my voice. “This time. I didn’t kill anyone, this time.”
Oliver snorts, and Ryn’s lip quirks at the corner in response.
My mind flits back to Hellas, and the end of our conversation, and I grin. As is my usual modus operandi when things get emotionally overwhelming (and especially when I know hugs are out of the question—I offered, he threatened to kill me), I cracked a joke.
His flaring orbs when I made a comment about my presence being a service enough to the community will forever be imprinted in my mind's eye. My suggestions about specific services I could offer, legally, went over just as spectacularly. Sparks—actual sparks! It was glorious. There’s just something about being a little shit that’s as titillating as the word titillating.
Ryn sips her chai, and Oliver takes another bite of his bran muffin, and I watch with no small amount of amusement as he drops some crumbs on his fucking hideous sweater vest. It’s got little geometric patterns across the chest in subdued greys and mustard yellow, with hints of other colors that almost make you dizzy as you stare at it, trying to figure out exactlywhatother colors you’re seeing in the chaos.
IswearI’ve seen it before—you don’t just forget something so ugly, but I can’t place it. Warmth fills my chest as my friend brushes off the crumbs. Only Oliver could pull off a look like that while eating a fucking old man bran muffin. A huff of amusement leaves my lips, and then it dawns on me, and I lurch forward, slapping my hand against the table and spilling some of Ollie’s tea and my chocolate banana iced frappuccino.
“HARRY!” At my shouted declaration, some patrons closest to us shoot annoyed glances, but I ignore them. Oh, this istoo good.
“Oi!” Oliver grunts, quickly trying to mop up some of the mess.
“Oliver—you didn’t. Did you? Are you fucking with me right now?” At the barely contained glee in my voice, he freezes, and then slowly,soooooo slowly,his eyes rise to mine—a devious little smirk pulling up one corner of his lips.
“What? What am I missing here?” Ryn light tone is colored with confusion, but clearly content thanks to the amount of excitement coursing through our bond from my end.
“How the fuck did you get it? He’s been dead for weeks now.” I let my eyes run over his sweater vest with renewed vigor, and Iknowfor sure now that Ihaveseen this monstrosity before, and honestly, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.
Oliver shrugs, satisfied with his efforts to clean the table, and leans back in his chair to sip on what’s left of his tea.
“Estate sale.” His eyes dance over the cup before he sets it down and purses his lips, “Shockingly, this was one of the more tame pieces. Who knew agropelter’s had such eclectic taste.”
