Page 3 of Aryn

Probably not.

But the move brought him down a peg, and now Cato’s eyes keep drifting to my chest, catching on the hoops through my nipples where they rest against my skin. A faint flush colors his cheeks when our gazes meet again. I like it more than I should—the confused interest in his stare, and the way it pulls a low thrum of satisfaction through my veins.

Before I can react, Sovran releases a huff of air. It’s the closest thing to a laugh I’ve heard from him and drags my attention back to his face. “Cato is correct. I’m being rude, barging into your home and making demands. I would appreciate a meal, Ronan. Thank you for offering.”

Taryn steps forward with a guarded smile. “Lillith and I will throw something together. Are there any, uh, dietary concerns we should be aware of?”

Sovran tilts his head curiously, blinking at her before his face settles back into stoic indifference. “No. I would be grateful for anything you offer.”

Taryn walks off with Lillith chattering excitedly in her ear about what dishes they could prepare for a being of his standing. “Do we have to pray?” Lillith whispers loudly, glancing back over her shoulder. “Do we pray to him? How does that work?” Taryn shushes her and takes her hand as they disappear into the storage building.

The amusement fades as soft footsteps pad forward. “Hello, Nyx,” Sovran says softly as he approaches. He towers over the Drüinae, a solid foot taller and twice as wide, but Nyx only tilts his pointed chin up, assessing him calmly.

“You are familiar,” Nyx says after a moment, then rests a hand over his heart. “Here. I have felt you before.”

“You have,” Sovran agrees as a smile tinged with regret forms on his mouth. “We will…” He breathes a heavy exhale and forces another sad smile. “Come. There is much to discuss.”

Ronan watches him carefully before leading the group toward the fire. Lillith and Taryn are already working on lunch, one feeding the flames while the other chops vegetables. No one says much out loud, though whispered conversations ripple through the group as heads tilt together. I stand for a moment, watching them walk away with Sovran’s golden hair leading the pack beside Ronan.

Cato turns and glances at me over his shoulder, but quickly jerks forward again when he realizes I’m looking. Curiosity finally wins over caution, and I let them lead me to the circle.

Cato

“What do you think about all this?” Ego drops beside me on the log, holding a plate absolutely loaded with food. I scowl at the mountain of mashed potatoes and venison, then shoot a glance toward the fire where half our powdered milk must’ve gone into that gravy.

“All what?” I ask around a bite.

“Sovran showing up like some fallen angel warrior.”

I roll my eyes and stab another forkful. “I think we’re burning through the good supplies for a guy who looks like he could eat the whole village under the table.”

Ego snorts. When I glance over, she arches a brow and drags her eyes down my frame. “Between you and Elas, it’s a miracle we have food stores at all.”

“I’m a growing boy,” I say with a grin, patting my stomach.

“You’re thirty-six.”

“Your point?”

She rolls her eyes as she smacks her palm on my belly, giving it a rough jiggle. “The only growing you’re doing is outward.”

“Says the hundred-pound woman who eats like a Nu’vak.”

“I have a good metabolism,” she replies through a massive bite. “I’m blessed. Jealousy looks cute on you, though. Really makes the freckles pop.”

“I’m not jealous,” I mutter.

She snorts. “Maybe not of me, but everyone around here has washboard abs. Even I’m a little jealous. And did you see Aryn out there?” She lets out a low whistle and fans herself. “That was a whole sleeper cell of hotness. Low key would absolutely bang.”

“They’re monsters,” I argue. “Which means they have a genetic advantage. And besides, I have abs.”

“We all have abs, sweetheart. Yours are just hiding behind a couple of layers.”

“A couple layers?” I demand.

Bash snickers on my other side and tries to hide it behind a cough when I glare at him. Xeni leans forward with that catty little smirk, his creepy white eye sliding down my torso. “Don’t feel too bad… you’re doing your very best. And besides,” he adds, nuzzling into Bash’s shoulder, “a little fluff isn’t a bad thing.”

“I don’t have fluff.”