“You do,” Mike agrees. “More... I don’t know... present? Like you’re here with us instead of halfway somewhere else.”
I hadn’t realized they’d noticed. Had I been that transparent all these years?
“I’m hopeful,” I confess. “For the first time, I’m hopeful that I might have something real. Something that isn’t built on lies.”
Derek raises his glass. “Then we’re happy for you, man. Genuinely.”
“Absolutely,” Mike adds. “And I want to meet this miracle worker someday.”
I smile, warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Thanks, guys. Really.”
22
JULIAN
Iswirl eighteen-year-old Macallan in a crystal tumbler, watching the amber liquid catch the light in my penthouse living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Ravenwood’s skyline, the city lights glittering like the jewelry adorning the necks of society wives who’d watched me claim Elliot.
“Never thought I’d see the day Julian Frost would be domesticated,” Victor says, his massive frame dwarfing my Italian leather armchair. He downs his whiskey in one gulp, disregarding its value. Typical.
“I’m hardly domesticated,” I reply, though the protest feels hollow even to me.
Theo lounges on my couch, legs crossed elegantly. “Says the man who claimed another hunter for an entire year. That’s fucking unprecedented.”
“Unprecedented is Julian’s specialty,” Jenson comments. The Blackwood brothers’ spymaster rarely joins our post-Hunt gatherings, but curiosity about my claiming must have drawn him out. “Though I must say, none of us predicted the art dealer.”
I maintain my composed expression despite the scrutiny. “Elliot wasn’t planned.”
Victor barks out a laugh. “Nothing about the Hunt is ever unplanned with you. You’ve always got some angle.”
“Perhaps this time the angle was simply pleasure,” Theo suggests, his eyes meeting mine.
“The gallery owner got under your skin,” Jenson observes quietly. “Interesting.”
I set my glass down with deliberate care. “He’s surprising.”
“Must be, to have Julian Frost breaking his rules of not claiming prey,” Victor says. “Xavier was shocked you asked for the year with another hunter.”
“I’m surprised he agreed,” Theo adds.
“Xavier respects innovation,” I say.
“So what now?” Victor asks. “You parade your conquest around town? Add him to your collection?”
Something sharp twists inside me at his words. “Elliot isn’t a conquest.”
The room falls silent. I’ve revealed too much.
Theo’s lips curve into a subtle smile. “Well. That is interesting.” He stretches his arms above his head and sighs with theatrical flair. “So I take it this means I’m not getting my usual post-Hunt fuck from you tonight, then?” He pouts, eyes glinting with mischief beneath his perfectly styled hair.
I narrow my eyes at him, irritated by his deliberate provocation in front of the others. Theo knows exactly what he’s doing. He’d had his taste of Elliot during our threesome but still wants to reveal our previous arrangement to the room. It’s a dick move, even if he meant it lightheartedly.
My gaze shifts to Victor, who’s reaching for the whiskey bottle to refill his empty glass. His massive, tattooed arms flex as he pours another generous portion, oblivious to the tension he’s about to be pulled into.
“Perhaps Victor should do the honors,” I suggest, my voice carrying the precise balance of casualness and command that makes people uncomfortable. “Fuck Theo’s ass, since you didn’t get the chance to claim anyone during the Hunt. Seems wasteful to let your... talents go unappreciated.”
Victor chokes mid-swallow, whiskey spraying from his mouth onto his shirt. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, eyes widening as he processes my suggestion.
“I’m not gay,” he practically snarls, defensive posture immediately replacing his relaxed demeanor.
