Calix stopped dead the second he saw all four grandfathers crowded around me like gossiping hens. His eyes narrowed immediately as he put the food on the coffee table.
Rack, meanwhile, walked straight toward me carrying a steaming mug.
I grabbed the mug and took a sip a little too quickly, mostly to hide the reaction crawling all over my face. The second the liquid hit my tongue, my eyes widened.
The rich chocolate melted together with the blood in a way that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did. Warmth spread through my chest immediately, curling through my body until I let out a tiny sound of surprise into the rim of the cup.
Rack noticed. Of course he did.
One corner of his mouth tipped upward while he settled into the couch beside me, clearly pleased with himself.
As I slurped down the contents like a newborn addict, I kept glancing at Rack over the rim, wondering what he looked like as a kid. Was he serious and quiet even then? Or was he one of those chaotic little boys that climbed furniture and broke things?
“So, Olivia...” Ternin’s voice cut through my thoughts. I looked up to find all four of them staring at me expectantly.
“How’s Calix treating you as your maker?” Ternin asked, pointing accusingly toward him. “And don’t sugarcoat it either. If he’s being an asshole, I’ll beat him myself.”
Calix groaned loudly and threw his arms into the air. “Oh, come on, give me a break.” Even while he complained, a flush climbed up the back of his neck.
“He’s been really good to me,” I admitted softly, and Calix went still. His attention locked onto me so completely it almost stole my next breath.
“H-he’s been teaching me everything,” I continued, suddenly very aware of his eyes on me. “He taught me how to run without smashing into walls…”
A nervous laugh escaped me. Unfortunately, my brain immediately betrayed me with the memory of us destroying the kitchen, and I looked away so fast my neck almost snapped.
“And…” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “He gave me somewhere to stay when I didn’t have one.” Ternin made a satisfied sound deep in his throat.
“Well. obviously,” he scoffed dramatically. “Anything less and his mother would beat his ass. She didn’t raise some bastard who would throw a treasure like you out into the streets.”
He leaned toward me conspiratorially. “She’smydaughter, by the way,” he whispered proudly. “The one who kept all these idiots’ sons in line.”
That statement immediately detonated into chaos.
“Oh please?—”
“You’re acting like your children weren’t terrors?—”
“Rayla nearly blew up an entire block! She actuallydidblow up your car!”
“And whose fault was that?”
Voices crashed over one another, accusations and bragging freely flying across the living room.
I sat there, clutching my mug and staring at them in complete disbelief because none of this matched the stories. Not even close.
Manic Rossey was supposed to be the werewolf king who ripped rival alphas apart barehanded. That same man was currently stealing bacon off Easton’s plate while grinning like a child.
Syris Glovefox was rumored to have seduced enemies into destroying themselves in front of their own families, smiling as they wailed for mercy.
Meanwhile, he was aggressively zooming in on embarrassing baby photos of Calix, pointing out how cute his toes were.
And Easton Winstale sat sipping tea with elegant posture and calm eyes despite being the very mage credited with revolutionizing magical weapons. The man people feared would kill them simply by reaching into his pocket. The unknown who was more terrifying than anything.
“You all realize,” Ternin loudly announced over everyone else, “that if I hadn’t come up with the competition for Rayla’s hand, none of your bloodlines would’ve continued.”
He crossed his arms smugly and tipped his chin skyward. “My daughter was worth more than all your sons combined.”
The others immediately erupted again. Arguing. Laughing. Accusing. And all I could think was, how could these men be both things at once?
