Page 65 of Venomous as a Snake

“She’s fine, Ali,” Drew states with a grin.

He wraps the bandage back around my arm, seemingly satisfied, though I feel like my assessment is a lie.

“I really am okay,” I tell them all. “It hasn’t been that long since it happened. It’ll be sore for a few days, and then I’ll notice the healing. The scab will be the worst part.”

“I’ll look at it again tomorrow,” Ali grumbles, losing the rasping quality of his dragon-tainted voice.

“Yes, sir.”

He rolls his eyes, calmer now that the adrenaline is wearing down and he’s checked on his mate. I want to be mad at him for snarling at me, but I’m not. He’s protective and just as territorial as the rest of us.

“I’ll grab us some clothes,” Drew says, heading for the stairs.

“I’ll grab my own,” Ali responds. “The last time you grabbed me clothes, you packed me nothing but jeans and Blondie’s panties.”

Drew snorts. “Best go-bag ever.”

“You’re a dick,” Ali mutters as they climb the stairs.

“We’ll stay at the house, so we’re nearby,” Walker decides. “It’s closer than their house.”

“You think he’ll show up tonight?” Forrest queries, glancing from Walker to me.

“No. He’s being protective,” I remark, elbowing the croc’s side. “We have a solid week before Clay shows his face.”

Forrest watches me closely before he asks, “How do you know?”

“You know of him…” I assume, then reveal. “I lived with him for five years.”

The rhino furrows his brow, and Collin shakes his head, speaking to Forrest without saying a word.

“He wasn’t my mate,” I explain. “He was our friend before he flipped the script and tried to destroy our relationships. Birds are insane; stay away from them.”

Really… I think Clay might be the first person who ever broke my heart.

He was my best friend.

And now, he’s my worst enemy.

“Yeah. We know.” Forrest scoffs to himself. “We found that out the hard way, too.”

When all this shit is over, I may have another enemy to take out.

Pending permission.

My front door swings open, then slams shut. Drew shouts my name as he wanders into the house with pizza and a plastic bag. I can’t see him, but I hear him rattle the groceries, then the delicious scent of pepperoni and cheese floats through the air.

“Blondie!”

“In the laundry room,” I respond. “Give me a second.”

“How was your night?”

I step into the kitchen, eyes narrowed at the tone of his question. “Great.”

“Oh?” he prompts, putting eggs and milk in my fridge.

“Yeah. We talked and ate junk food and—”