More rustling follows, then a furious whispered hiss. “Stop that!”
I stiffen. “Excuse me?”
“Not you. I mean… nothing… just…please, I’ll be right out.”
My eyes narrow at the strange, shifting bulge beneath the blankets, writhing like a sack of trapped serpents.
I grip the edge of the blanket and give it a sharp tug, just enough to expose Orios on the left. His hair tumbles free in a wild, disheveled mane, the dark strands curling over his bare chest. He gulps, knuckles white as he fists the covers, holding them in place with a silent plea for mercy.
“Rook,” he stammers, his voice hoarse. “Please, if you… give us a moment.”
Before I can respond, Solena pops out on the right, her hair a tangled mess, bare shoulders stark against the sheets. There is no mistaking what I’ve walked in on. If I weren’t so anxious, I might even be amused.
“I'm sorry to have disturbed you,” I say at last, genuinely, realizing I’ve made this far more uncomfortable than necessary. “I'll wait downstairs.”
I turn, gripping the door handle to grant them their privacy, but something tugs at my instincts. My spine stiffens. I glance back, eyes narrowing at the bed where Solena and Orios lie, covers clutched to their chests. They are sprawled apart, yet the space between them is not empty.
I pause. Then tilt my head.
“Who is your friend, Solena?” I ask.
Color drains from her face. “My… friend?”
I shift my gaze to Orios. If she is a bad liar, he will be worse.
“Reaper,” I say, watching him flinch at the command. “Will you answer me?”
“Yes, Rook,” he blurts, then blanches. “I mean…no. I mean…” His eyes dart helplessly to Solena, begging for rescue.
I roll my eyes, already bored. “Fine. I'll find out myself.”
I plant a knee on the edge of the bed and grip the covers, but before I can yank them away, a third head bobs up between them.
Zyphoro.
She sweeps a hand through her raven curls, shaking them back from her face, her bare shoulders inked with runes. I thank every god in existence that I stopped myself before pulling the blanket further. There are some things I never need to see.
“Really?” I ask dryly, arching a brow.
Zyphoro shrugs. “They seduced me and I’ve never been so happy to be proved wrong.”
I stare at her. Then at them. Then back again. I have heard nothing more preposterous in my life.
Slowly, I turn to Orios, smirking. “Have a good night, Reaper?”
He doesn’t answer. But his burning red cheeks and the reluctant curve of his mouth tell me everything I need to know.
“Well,” I sigh, shaking my head. “When the three of you manage to untangle yourselves from whateverthatis, can we get the fuck out of here? Ballamar has given nothing.” My gaze sweeps over them, unimpressed. “To me, anyway.”
I leave them at last, and the moment the door clicks shut behind me, I swear I hear their collective sigh of relief.
Downstairs, I push aside a slumbering drunk slumped over the bar, claiming his spot without remorse. No bartender in sight. Fine. I help myself to a shot of rum, pouring generously before knocking it back in one sharp motion. The burn scalds its way down my throat, a brief distraction from the rot in my mind.
The tension coiled in my muscles refuses to unwind. My crew had their fun last night, but I find no envy in their indulgences. The fire in my blood is not so easily quenched.
I am a Fae of flesh, of heat and hunger, and I do not deny my nature. I know the sweet relief of a warm body, the way pleasure can be both an escape and a reckoning. I know how it feels to sink into heat, to lose myself in the rhythm of lust until there is nothing left but breath and skin and the fleeting illusion of peace.
But no nameless body can sate me now. No indulgence would be enough. The hunger twisting in my gut is for Amara alone. Only her hands, her mouth, her body, can ease this ache. Only she can unravel me, soothe the rage and the want that has me wound so tight I might snap.
