“Maybe?” Colt’s shrug was noncommittal at best, though something softened in his expression at Wei’s mention of China. For all his precision and control, Colt had a surprising soft spot for his stepbrothers’ heritage, having picked up more Mandarin phrases than any of them expected.
Nico perked up mid-bite, cheeks still stuffed with French toast. “Vacation? Where to? When? Can my entourage join?” His eyes lit up with excitement, boyish enthusiasm that made him look even younger. “I’ve always wanted to go to Shanghai! All those lights and the food markets. And the art scene, Jaxson. The art scene!”
Xander gave him a look that suggested he’d seen this movie before. “Pump those vacation brakes. Colt hasn’t even started the job yet, and you’re already spending his paychecks.”
Nico deflated visibly, shoulders slumping as he pushed his eggs around his plate. “Well, can’t blame a guy fordreaming.” He brightened almost immediately, resilient as always, shoveling another forkful of French toast into his mouth. “At least breakfast is good.”
The mundane morning rhythm of clinking plates and casual banter screeched to a halt when Lan appeared in the doorway. Jaxson’s world tilted on its axis, his breath catching in his throat.
Still damp from his shower, Lan entered the kitchen with a quiet grace that immediately drew every eye. His ink-black hair fell in soft waves around a face that defied simple categorization—a mesmerizing blend of his father’s Western features and the subtle Xinjiang influence from his mother’s ancestry. Though the Ji family was one of China’s oldest Han Chinese lineages, Lan’s appearance seemed to have cherry-picked the most devastating elements from each branch of his heritage. High cheekbones curved like calligraphy beneath skin so luminously pale it seemed lit from within. His eyes—larger and more expressive than typical Han features—were set beneath perfectly arched brows that gave him a perpetually questioning look. Those eyes were the true revelation: not the expected dark brown, but a captivating amber-gold that caught the morning light like tiger’s eye gemstones. The delicate bridge of his nose, the sculpted fullness of his lips, the elegant line of his jaw that hinted at his Western heritage—each element alone would be merely beautiful, but together they created something that felt almost supernatural in its perfection.
Jaxson’s breath caught in his throat, his body reacting before his mind could process. The scent hit him first—honey-sweet with underlying notes of cherry blossoms and lilies, a fragrance that seemed to bypass his rational brain entirely and reach directly into something ancient and primal at his core. His pupils dilated instantly, vision tunneling until the kitchen, the breakfast, the very concept of the outside world faded to insignificance. There was only Lan.
The white t-shirt—one of Jaxson’s own, he realized with a possessive jolt that shocked him with its intensity—hung from Lan’s slender frame, slipping off one shoulder to reveal skin so perfect it appeared untouched by time or hardship. Water droplets still clung to his neck, tracing tempting paths downward before disappearing beneath the collar. Jaxson’s mouth went bone-dry, his hands curling into fists against his thighs as he fought the overwhelming urge to cross the room and follow those droplets with his tongue.
Something massive and ancient unfurled in his chest—part protective instinct, part consuming hunger, part reverence for something sacred that he couldn’t name but recognized bone-deep. It was devotion and desire fused into a single, overwhelming imperative:claim, protect, possess.
The physical response shocked him with its intensity. Heat flooded his system, his heartbeat accelerating to a thunderous pace. His skin felt too tight, every nerve ending suddenly hyperaware. The borrowed shirt clinging to Lan’s damp skin turned nearly transparent in patches, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the body beneath. Jaxson’s throat worked convulsively as he swallowed, a low sound building deep in his chest that he barely managed to contain.
Across the table, Colt had gone utterly still, the fork in his hand suspended halfway to his mouth as if time itself had stopped. His nostrils flared, once, twice, as he drew in Lan’s scent, the tendons in his forearm standing out in stark relief as his grip tightened until the metal utensil threatened to bend. His eyes—typically cold and analytical—had darkened to the black of a starless night, tracking Lan’s every movement with predatory intensity.
The change was visceral and immediate—the precise, controlled man vanishing beneath something feral and desperate. A muscle jumped in his jaw as his teeth clenched,and a flush crawled up his neck. His breathing had altered to something shallow and quick, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d run miles rather than simply sat at a breakfast table. The air around him seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy.
“I’m heading out,” Lan announced, adjusting his messenger bag, entirely unaware of the effect he was having. The movement caused the shirt to slip further, revealing the elegant sweep of his collarbone and the tender hollow above it. His voice—softer than his brothers’, with musical cadences that hinted at his mixed heritage—carried through the room like a physical caress.
Xander’s reaction was less obvious but no less profound. He set his coffee mug down with such measured precision it made no sound against the table—the control costing him visibly as a fine tremor ran through his usually steady hands. His gaze remained fixed on the dark liquid as if it required his complete concentration, but his eyes had dilated so widely the warm honey was nearly swallowed by black. The rhythm his fingers tapped against the ceramic grew erratic, the only outward sign of the chaos raging beneath his composed exterior.
When he finally allowed himself to look up, the transformation was startling—his typically thoughtful expression replaced by something hungry and possessive. He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he fought against an instinct so powerful it seemed to physically pull him toward Lan, like gravity suddenly doubling its force.
“Breakfast,” Colt managed, the single word emerging as barely more than a growl, rough and animal-deep. He cleared his throat, gaze dropping to his plate as he resumed cutting his French toast into perfect triangles, though his movements had taken on a meticulous quality that bordered on obsessive—control for control’s sake, as if the simple act was all that kept him anchored to civilization.
Wei’s lips curved into a knowing smile as he leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug between his palms. His eyes moved from brother to brother, observing with the calm detachment of someone watching a familiar scene unfold exactly as anticipated. “Our Little Shrine Maiden graces us with his presence,” he murmured, just loud enough to carry. “And look—the whole room forgets how to breathe. Remarkable, really.”
The nickname sent a shiver down Jaxson’s spine—not because of any religious connotation, but because it feltrightsomehow, ancient and familiar, as if Lan had always been their shrine maiden, their sacred heart.
“Yeah, Lan!” Nico mumbled through a mouthful of food, seemingly immune to the tension that had transformed the kitchen air into something thick and charged. “Wei’s French toast is worth being late for!”
Jaxson stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor with an aggression that betrayed his inner turmoil. “I’ll drive you,” he said, his voice steadier than the molten heat coursing through his veins, than the pounding of his heart against his rib cage, than the roaring in his ears that sounded suspiciously like a single word repeated:mine, mine, mine.
He fought the overwhelming urge to cross the room and wrap himself around Lan’s smaller frame, to bury his face against that pale neck where the scent would be strongest, to mark with teeth and touch what some primal part of him insisted had always been his. The intensity of his own reaction should have terrified him, but instead, it felt right—as natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity.
The need to provide, to care for, to ensure Lan was fed and protected roared through him with an intensity that left him momentarily lightheaded. It wasn’t mere brotherly concern—it was both more sacred and more animal than that. It was devotion and desire fused into something that transcended both,something that felt encoded in his very DNA. The thought of Lan leaving without eating, without Jaxson’s protection, sent a physical pain through his chest that was almost crippling.
“But first,” he managed, the words emerging rough-edged despite his best efforts at control, “eat something.”
Three
LAN
Jaxson’s warm hand around my arm sent electricity shooting through my body, making parts of me spring to attention that had no business doing so at the breakfast table.Seriously?Even after my extended “self-love” session in the shower, where I’d definitelynotbeen thinking about those same fingers sliding elsewhere, tracing patterns on my skin, pressing into me until I?—
God, being twenty-one was like living with a hormone factory programmed to malfunction specifically around tall, gorgeous stepbrothers. Especially ones who insisted on touching you with hands that felt like they were made of pure sin. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt, each individual finger a point of searing contact that I felt all the way to my core.
I jerked my arm away, my face burning hotter than the coffee Wei was perpetually brewing. “Fine, fine. I’ll have breakfast,” I muttered, trying to sound annoyed rather than flustered. The only way to handle Jaxson was to give him what he wanted—in this case, watching me eat like I was some rare bird that might forget how to peck at seeds. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, making my skin prickle with uncomfortable awareness.
Taking a deliberate step back—because space was definitely what I needed right now, preferably enough to dilute the intoxicating scent of Jaxson’s that seemed to follow me like a sensual ghost—I lifted my gaze to meet his. Big mistake. Those amber-hazel eyes could probably get state secrets out of trained spies, all golden flecks and intensity that made my stomach perform acrobatics worthy of Olympic gold.
“But you don’t have to drive me,” I insisted, proud that my voice didn’t shake despite the riot happening in my chest. “It’s not far, and biking doesn’t take long.”
