Page 6 of Every Eligible Man

Slade is examining the pile of stolen magical components with what he probably thinks is a critical eye, but it actually just makes him look constipated. Broken jewelry, bent silver spoons, a cracked hand mirror, three shiny buttons, a tarnished tiara, and an entire velvet curtain the rats have been slowly liberating from the manor house for weeks. Bastard stands guard over the pile like a white-feathered dragon protecting his hoard.

"This is what we're working with?" Slade picks up the tiara. Half the fake gems are missing. "Did you rob a bankrupt brothel?"

"I robbed a dead witch's grave and your stepfather's trash heap," One-Eye snaps. "You want Versailles couture, go find your own magical crow. Oh wait, there isn't one, because I'm the only idiot desperate enough to help you three."

"I think it's lovely," Nibbles squeaks from somewhere near the curtain. He's already chewing on one corner. "Very rustic. Very 'rags to bitches.'"

"That's not the saying," Ash says.

"It is now."

I like Nibbles. He gets it.

Squeak scrambles up onto a hay bale, tiny paws on his hips like a general addressing his troops. For a rat, he has remarkable command presence. I respect that.

"Okay, here's the plan. Boss, Ash, you're the oldest and the biggest, so you go for the strong silent type. Brooding. Dangerous. 'I could snap you in half but I'll be gentle if you ask nice.' Got it?"

"I don't brood," Ash says.

"You literally glare at sunrises like they've personally wronged you," Slade points out.

"That's because mornings are a scam."

"That's brooding, boss!" Twitch bounces excitedly. "Perfect! Lean into it!"

Squeak's tiny paw swings toward Slade. "You, pretty boy, you're the charmer. Flirty. Quick with the tongue. The one who makes her laugh before he makes her scream."

Bastard honks approvingly. That goose has always been weirdly invested in Slade's sex life.

"I'm more than just a pretty face," Slade protests, but he's already preening. He's always preening. The man has never passed a reflective surface without checking himself out.

"We know. You're also an ass." Squeak's attention swivels to me, and I feel a surge of excitement. This is my moment. My classification. My role. "And you, chaos goblin."

"Thank you."

"You're the wildcard. Unpredictable. The one who says the unhinged shit that makes her think 'I should not find this attractive and yet.'"

This is the greatest compliment I've ever received. I feel seen. I feel understood. I feel…

"Shut up and take your pants off," Squeak says.

I'm already ahead of him.

My breeches hit the floor before he's finished the sentence. I stand there buck naked, lean, wiry, covered in scars from a lifetime of questionable decisions, and feel absolutely nothing resembling shame. Shame is for people who haven't made peace with their chaos.

Gerald immediately steals my breeches and drags them under a hay bale.

"Gerald, I need those." I pause. Consider. "Never mind. Guess I'm going full cock out for the magic portion."

Susan chirrups approvingly from my shoulder. She's always supported my life choices, even the terrible ones. Especially the terrible ones.

Ash sighs heavily. He does that a lot, the sighing, strips down as well. And okay, I know he's my brother, but objectively speaking? Years of farm labor have carved him into something obscene. Broad shoulders, thick arms, abs that could grate cheese, and a cock that hangs heavy between his thighs like it's already preparing for its starring role.

The rats go dead silent for half a second.

"Jesus tapdancing Christ," Twitch whispers.

"We're gonna need bigger pants," Squeak breathes.