Page 147 of Heimlock

“Y-you … you took it easy on me?” I shriek, absolutely furious.

Trinte curls a lip, looking at me like I’m stupid. “I electrocuted the fuck out of you at full throttle. I wouldn’t say I took it easy on you.”

“You just said a bad word,” Joulian crows, hopping into the kitchen. “Mom! Mr. Trinte said a bad word!”

Trinte and I glare at one another. I cross my arms, like a petulant child. His expression softens, and I do the same when he rubs a thumb over my cheek. “I wasn’t going to chance killing you, Kyrielle.”

“Are you two already arguing?” Orliana calls out.

My anger melts away. Trinte isn’t wrong; I’m just irritated. “We’ll still talk about this later.”

Trinte tips my chin up, gives me a soft, reverent kiss. “I hope it’s when we’re naked.”

“We can hear you,” Fynn yells.

“Completely naked,” I whisper back.

“Still can hear you!” Fynn repeats. “Please respect my excellent hearing in my own home, you two.”

Trinte’s eyes light up. Shooting a devilish grin at the disembodied voice, he murmurs, “I think tonight I’m going to make you submit and open that pretty mouth to—”

“TRINTE!” Fynn roars. Orliana gasps, and we can hear Fynn apologizing quietly.

We share a grin, and he slings an arm over my shoulders. “Come on, Firefly, let’s go annoy my brother some more.”

We step into the kitchen and Fynn’s glaring at his brother like they’re about to fight. Talia is already sitting at the table, drinking a glass of femire, quite bemused.

Orliana is glowering, hands on her hips. “Can’t the two of you just be … normal?”

“No,” Trinte and I say at the same time.

“Fortuna save us, there’s two of them,” Fynn mutters, turning back to the stove.

Trinte stalks toward the alcohol cart and grabs a bottle of Minga. He uncaps it, and Talia clears her throat. They exchange a look; he purses his lips, grabbing a glass. I grin and, just to fuck with him, I shuck off my jacket as I sit in his chair.

He’s mid-stride to ‘his’ spot, and freezes. I offer a saccharine smile while I dramatically nestle back into the chair. “Mmm, such a nice chair, don’t you think?”

Talia almost spits out her femire. Fynn sighs heavily, and Orliana continues to glare.

Practically growling, Trinte stalks over to the chair he sat in last time. “Remember this moment, Firefly. Remember it.”

“Why does she need to remember it?” Joulian asks, curious.

“Say one more word and I’ll filet you with this,” Orliana says, holding up a knife.

Pouting at my partner, I glare at his Minga. “What? No drink for me?”

Raising an eyebrow, he carefully places the Minga and glass on the table, then marches back to the fridge. When he returns, it’s with a bottle of Heimlock.

He slams it on the table hard, ensuring I can’t open it for at least a couple of minutes, unless I want to coat Fynn’s kitchen with beer.

Batting his eyelashes, he says, “Here’s a nice beer for such a nice chair, sweetie pie.”

We glare at one another; his mouth twitches. Then we burst into laughter. He sits down, pours the Minga, and pushes over the glass for me. “Try it. Some of the best.”

The kitchen is quiet; we look up to see everyone watching us like we’ve grown eleven hydra heads.

As I take a sip of the drink, Trinte says, “What?”