Page 161 of Ex Somnis

“I brought you a shirt and boxers.”

He grabs my chin and pulls me in for a kiss, then rests his forehead against mine.

“Thank you.”

Inside the cottage, Jasper has a piece of paper on the coffee table with Remember your promise written in red Sharpie. It’s placed in the center of a small arrangement of things, suggesting Jasper operates on a completely different frequency from the rest of the world.

A crystal. Lit incense, the smoke curling toward the ceiling.

“What’s all this?” I look at the arrangement. “I thought you wanted to clean things up?”

“I’m working on it,” Jasper murmurs.

Nevan goes to find clothes while I sit on the edge of the sofa and look at the scrap of paper, thinking about what Ridge said.

“That must have been psychological torture.”

I know Lucien is capable of torturing people in their sleep. I’ve seen it firsthand.

But again. Why Nevan? Nevan apologizes when furniture bumps into him.

I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath of the incense-filled air.

Whatever Lucien is doing, I don’t think it’s punishment for something Nevan did, because punishment would make sense. Punishment follows rules and requires a reason. This feels more deliberate than that. More targeted. It’s as if Lucien looked at Nevan and saw something useful. Something he could use.

I look toward the hallway where Nevan disappeared and wonder if Lucien chose him not because of something he’d done, but because of who he is.

The man in question wanders back into the living room a minute later, wearing sweatpants and one of his oversized hoodies, looking way too hot for the situation we’re in.

He drops onto the sofa beside me and immediately pulls me under his arm, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

My heart softens as I lean against him. “Rule number three.”

Bad days don’t go alone.

I tip up my face and kiss him softly, the good-morning kiss he would have gotten if we’d woken up together in bed, like we were meant to.

The floorboard creaks, and we both turn toward the sound as Seraphine emerges from what I assume is her bedroom. Her silver hair hangs loose around her shoulders, and a pale robe is tied around her waist. She looks half asleep until she sees us sitting close, and a soft smile touches her lips.

Then her gaze moves to Jasper and the coffee table, then the scrap of paper on top of it, and her smile vanishes.

It doesn’t fade.

Vanishes.

Every hair on my arm rises.

“What’s that?” she asks sharper than I’ve ever heard her speak.

“Apparently, Nevan doesn’t remember a promise,” Jasper says carefully. “One he probably made in his sleep.”

Seraphine crosses the room and drops to her knees in front of Nevan, grabbing his face hard.

“What did you promise?”

His eyes go wide. “I don’t…”

“What did you promise, boy?” She gives him a small shake, not enough to hurt but enough to frighten me.