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“You’re going to go broke,” she accused.
Darien grinned. “Not at the rate I collect.” Seeing the concern on her face, he told her, “Gold. Remember, sweetheart? You’re worth more than any amount of money to me.”
The statement had her ducking her head, pink dusting her cheeks.
But she was soon suppressing a yawn, hand drifting to her half-open mouth. He felt terrible for waking her up.
He stood and helped her up off the rug. “Let’s go to bed.” He was more than ready to forget this night, and more than ready to be back in his suite, holding his entire world in his arms.
9
Loren woke up the following morning to a quiet house.
Rolling over in bed, she stifled a yawn and reached across the mattress, but her fingers were met with empty space and cold sheets.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Unless the clock on the nightstand had developed the ability to lie, it was already nine thirty. She hadn’t meant to sleep so late, but after the events of yesterday and last night, it didn’t surprise her that she’d slept like the dead until now.
Having Darien in bed beside her for the past few hours had certainly helped. He’d held her the whole time, his arms wrapped around her, her back pressed solidly against his front. She loved when he held her like that, keeping her safe even in her dreams. But it always made the long nights without him harder to bear.
And the mornings.
Golden light poured into the room through the slats in the blinds, the sun’s rays so bright they made the enchanted candles burning on the nightstand look dim.
Squinting, she slung a hand over her eyes, debating going back to sleep for another hour. It was her weekend, so she figured she shouldn’t feel guilty for getting some extra rest. And gods, her eyes were still burning, the light that was pushing through the blinds not helping.
As she debated it, she listened for signs of life in the house. But there was nothing. No music as Ivy played the piano, no distant droning of a television, no echoing voices bouncing up to her floor, no Familiars causing a ruckus by chasing each other all over the mansion.
When Loren rolled over onto her side, she spotted a pen and a wrinkled note next to the collection of vanilla candles on the nightstand.
Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she slid across the mattress, just far enough to grab what she realized was a receipt from a convenience store. 24/7 Stop, it said. She blinked to clear her vision and read Darien’s neat writing on the back of it.
Morning, beautiful. I had to go make a collection, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Max and Dom have Blue with them for the day.
PS. I love you, you little brat.
Xoxo,
Dare
The corners of her mouth twitched with a smile. She stared at the note for a long time, mostly at what he’d added to the end of it, as well as his name. She wasn’t sure why, but the sight of his handwriting always managed to surprise her. Neater than most men, more…careful. Heck, her writing was messier than his.
Being careful not to wake Singer, who was curled up on his cushion by the balcony doors, Loren got out of bed and slipped the note into the top drawer of the nightstand for safekeeping, among a nest of other notes Darien had written for her in their short time together. She knew he would eventually discover them, if he hadn’t already, and tease her for hanging onto them.
She found her slippers kicked partway under the bed and shoved her cold feet into them. If only Darien was home so she could warm her icy toes up on his back. He tried to insist that he hated when she did that, but something told her he was lying, especially because he didn’t always flinch when she did it.
The house was silent and seemingly empty. Loren made her way to the end of the hallway and skipped down the grand staircase, humming to herself all the while. The crystals on the chandelier in the entrance hall reflected the morning sunshine, shooting flecks of rainbow and white light onto the spotless walls.
When she got down to the entrance hall, the lingering fragrance of brewed espresso, fresh pancakes, and maple syrup wafted from the kitchen, making her mouth water and her stomach growl.
She picked up her pace, hurrying past the sitting room—
And froze when she found a female Darkslayer with strawberry—blonde hair lounging in Darien’s usual seat at the dining room table. Her legs were crossed, her golden summer tan dark against the white dress she was wearing. Along with her dress, she wore a fur coat—an odd choice of attire, considering the climate they lived in, even with all the rain they had been getting lately. Her right arm rested on the table, sharp nails tapping out a rhythm on the artwork—a winged devil looming over Angelthene—that was burned into the surface of the oak.
“Hello, Loren,” the Warg crooned. She tucked a strand of thick hair behind her ear, revealing the crescent moon tattooed just below it. “You remember me, don’t you?”
“Valary.” Loren said her name on a quiet breath that told the trespasser exactly how surprised she was to see her. Her heart was pounding out an irregular rhythm she knew the Warg could hear.
“Aww.” Valary pouted her glossy lips. “Why so frightened? I just wanted to say hello.”
