I, obviously, ignore him.
I thought Morana would be here. I thought she started work earlier. I thought she came over, had breakfast with everyone, and sadly completed her first chores of the day while looking forlornly out every window she passed, wondering at what time I might show up, save her from her sorrows, and bug her endlessly.
Apparently this is not what transpires.
I scoot my chair out.
“Kyran,” Viktor states, hard, veryeldestof him, “you can still have breakfast with us. You came all the way out here.”
“I came all the way out here with hope in my heart that I might see what early sunlight looks like upon the skin of the woman I love. I didnotcome all the way out here forfamily time.”
Maelin gasps, positioning her fingers at her lips.
Zakery beside her whispers, loudly, “Did he just…declare love for hislittle sister?”
Maelin scowls and smacks him in the chest.
Holding my stupidest brother’s gaze, I slip my fork from beside my plate, shift my grip on the handle so I’m holding it like a dagger, and stab a pancake. Then another. And another.
I dump fruit across the stack next, snatch the entire bowl of whipcream, and turn on my heel to plastic wrap my quarry at the island counter.
Viktor grumbles, “Kyran, what are you doing?”
“What do you think?”
Chuckling either merrily or evilly—you can never tell with Crisis—my older sister purrs, “Let it be known, the Bachelor boys fall hard…”
While I wrap up the stolen food, Clara mixes more whipped cream for everyone, then as I’m leaving, she whispers, “Good luck.”
I offer her a polite nod, but what I need isn’tluckat all.
It is sunlight. On Morana’s precious skin. Illuminating my kiss marks on her throat. Which suggest that she’smine.
Huh.
Guess Lukas isn’t the only idiot among us who’s violently possessive for no logical reason. Whatever. We can both be morons. It’s probably genetic.
?
Angrily, Morana throws her door open and snaps, “Will you stop that?”
I stop the seizure my finger is having against her doorbell, take her in, and frown.
Morana, yes. Sunlight, yes. Kiss marks,no.
“Why are you in a turtleneck?” I ask.
She tugs at the fabric covering her neck and mutters, “It’s February.”
“Yes…and?”
“It’s cold.” She adorably tucks into the knit. “I must keep my neck warm, to protect against illness.” Sniffing, she takes me in, glancing at the stuff in my arms. “What are you doing here?Again. Can I have no time to myself anymore?”
“Why would you want time to yourself?”
“Hm, I wonder,” she drawls, as though she’s not stepping aside to let me in. “I like to take my mornings slow, plan my day, prepare for the drive to work…and the inevitable horrors set to befall me there.”
It’s me. I’m horrors.
