She felt that goodbye against her lips like a promise and a warning, wrapped into one.
Rin wokeup in Rhyden’s bed—but was it really Rhyden’s when she had commandeered it?
Cyrus slept beside her. Lucien lay on the settee, phone in hand, blue glow reflecting off his glasses, which had slipped down the bridge of his nose.
She lifted her head. Rhyden lay on the floor by her side of the bed. He slept as if he hadn’t meant to, gun by his outstretched hand.
Auren was… somewhere.
In the five days since he’d whisked her away, she had rarely seen him. When she did, he simply stared at her. As if she were the sun he wished to orbit.
Five days of Rhyden bringing her meals and pressing his cold palm to her forehead to check her temperature, then cursing when his lack of body heat meant everything felt warm to him.
Suffice it to say, Rin was doing better.
Somewhat.
She felt her heart thud as she slowly extricated her limbs from the blankets. It was too hot for… one, two, three, four—who slept withsixblankets?
She left quietly, bare feet brushing against the cool floors. Lucien stirred at the sound, lowering his phone. She tiptoed to him. He caught her wrist, hand sliding to her hip, pushing hershirt up to her ribs. His fingertips tapped a rhythm only he knew onto her skin.
"Did you sleep okay?" Lucien’s voice was thick.
"I’m feeling better…" Her eyes lingered on Rhyden’s resting form. "I’m going to make breakfast," she decided, then stepped out of Lucien’s hold and walked to the door.
In the kitchen, she found an expired carton of eggs and a block of cheddar cheese in the fridge.
The stove’s warmth flared. It was too silent as she cracked the eggs, listening to their faint sizzle as they met the warmed pan.
She wiped her hands on a cloth and turned on the television in the living room. The wide open space ensured she could see it from where she stood in the kitchen, pouring thick, frothy glasses of orange juice. There was no coffee or tea. She couldn’t imagine Rhyden liking—she lifted the bottle of juice to her eyes, squinting at the label—synthetically sweetened, low-calorie orange juice.
The distant hum of the newscaster’s voice washed over her as she flipped the slightly charred eggs.
If Kit were here, would he tease her about her terrible cooking?
She scraped the spatula over the pan angrily.
The lights flickered. An electric hum.
Rin stilled, staring at the hanging lights in the kitchen. They flickered again—a brief moment of darkness.
The air was still, like everything was holding its breath except her.
The television screen went dark. As did the lights.
Rin was left in nothing but early morning shadow, the wide open curtains letting in the slowly dawning sun.
She forgot about the eggs.
Always so used to the quiet humming of electricity that when it turned off, her ears rang, unused to the unnatural stillness.The sound of her breathing was far too loud. Heat began to wash over her, a thick humidity from the sudden lack of air conditioning.
Footsteps came behind her. She turned and found Rhyden, gun in hand.
"Isn’t that a bit of an overreaction?" She eyed his gun.
It was still curfew outside, not yet bright enough that the Rogues were scared into hiding until nightfall.
"You say that now, but I don’t see your Echogun anywhere. Doubt you can hide it in those thin shorts of yours, wife. Let’s see if you think it’s an overreaction when Rogues eat security and devour everything in their path." With each word, Rhyden drew closer, until she smelled his sharp peppermint scent and felt his cool breaths rustle her sleep-tousled hair. "Until they find their way up here. To the… cherry on top of their little human sundae." He brushed the butt of the gun over her bare shoulder.
