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“Oh yes.” His arm tightens around my waist. “You absolutely will, baby mouse.”
20
CIARAN
Did I just spend a second night in a row with Rowan?
Hell, fucking, yes.
Sure, he spent most of this one unconscious after nearly cracking his skull open in a hidden underground chamber, but I’m still counting it as a win.
I like the way he looks in my bed. Pale hair across my pillow. My shirt hanging loose on him. All soft and half asleep, completely unaware of what he does to me when he looks at me like that.
Even with the bruises. Even with the ankle. Even if there’s a very real chance he wakes up in five minutes, realizes where he is, and starts threatening me again.
Honestly, I’m looking forward to it.
Unfortunately, before I get to enjoy any of that, I still have to survive my cousins. The vultures are already downstairs waiting with coffee, sarcasm, and enough questions to qualify as an interrogation.
“Is he still asleep?”
I glance toward the stove, surprised to find Damaris standing there. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Cooking.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I was worried when Ro didn’t come back last night. And when Lucan called, I came straight over.”
“When Lucan called,” I repeat, glancing toward my cousin. “Really?”
Lucan lifts his coffee in a lazy salute, wearing a shit-eating grin. It irritates me more than it probably should.
Though to his credit, Rowan’s friend seems sincerely out of place here. He’s a cute thing with wavy hair and light eyes, but not really my type.
No, apparently my type prefers sneaking around Caervast at night, wandering into hidden chambers, and nearly getting himself killed every time I look away.
I nearly fall off my stool when a ball slams into my shoulder with vicious speed. “Mother—”
“Daydreaming again, hot shot?” Rafe grins as he catches it one-handed, then points it straight at my face.
“You wouldn’t,” I growl. I swear, if he throws that thing, I’ll take him down, cousin or not.
He winks, then makes a fake throwing motion that has me jerking sideways. “That depends. You gonna tell me what the fuck cello boy is doing in your bed again?”
“You never bring the same guy back to your bed twice,” Marius drawls, dressed in a silk robe with one long leg crossed over the other.
Damaris snarks from the kitchen, “Cello boy has a name.”
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on Rafe and that damn ball. He’s a dangerous motherfucker who, unlike Lucan and definitely unlike Marius, genuinely enjoys violence. “Rowan’s none of your business.”
“I beg to differ. If he wants to be fucked by my cousin and earn himself a more permanent place in your bed, he needs approval from all of us.”
“Please.” Damaris scoffs from the kitchen. The guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that. “Mind your own business, and we’ll do the same.”
“Yeah?” I drag my stool closer and knock the ball out of Rafe’s hand, grinning when he swears as I install myself directly across from Damaris. “And what exactly is your business?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, but color creeps onto his cheeks. “Right now, I’m making your breakfast.”
I look at the waffles he’s making and snatch one off the plate. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Taking a bite, I watch his every move carefully.
