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“Fascinating as we could makethatsubject…” I address to my buddy’s quip, “I’m proposing a new plan.” That part is addressed to the siblings. “If any of the media did track you guys here, maybe it’s best that you two take the stairs down. Jesse and I will throw them off at the garage elevators and text you when the coast is clear.”
Neither of them are fully buying it, but they’re not calling bullshit either. “There’s just enough paranoia there to make sense,” Kell replies. “J, give him your digits. I’m still not sure if our friends in theHysminaihave totally given up on tracking my phone.”
“Hysminai,” Jesse echoes. “The fighting spirits? They’re real?”
Poor Kell. The prologue of her reply consists of a visible shudder. “Real enough,” she croaks, prompting Jesse to cover her shaking hand with his comforting one.
I don’t let him keep it there for long.
Doesn’t mean he’s happy about the foreboding shake of my head.
Not happy all—as he clarifies the very second after Kell follows Jaden into the stairwell.
“If I were a friend who kept score, I’d call that a solid cock block, amigo.”
I answer his cutting bite with a new—and stern—head dip.
“And I’d call it saving your hide,adelfos.”
The man has studied enough astronomy, cosmology, and meteorology to properly translate the word, which I’ve certainly used with him in English form before. But I’ve purposely saved the original Greek version ofbrotherfor an occasion in which I’d need it for extra emphasis. A lot of it. That time has finally come.
“Listen. I’m not trying to be your locust rain. But if you don’t order your libido to change its weather forecast about Kell—”
“Okay. Got it,” Jesse retorts. “Clever metaphor gets you five points on the board. I hear you—”
“Do you?” I cut in. “Becauseclevershouldn’t be your main take-away here. Nor should Kell’s phone number. You remember the part about Veronica negotiating Kara out of the mating contract with Arden, right? And the fact that the underworld let it slide because there wasanotherValari to take her place?”
His eye roll is eerily casual. “Fine. Yeah. I remember,” he mutters like a dating show contestant who’s had one too many beers.
“All right. Then act like it.”
“Likewhat?”He drums a couple of fingers against his chair’s armrest. “You think I’m going to sneak into the mansion and grab a quick bang beneath Veronica’s nose?”
I drop my head back, letting itwhumpthe wall. If he thinks I’m losing my patience, he’s right. “I think you’re getting hooked on how that young woman looks at you. Looksupto you. And those angles in her sails feel a lot different than your normal cruise with a woman, so now you’re intrigued with how to best conquer the wind on this one.”
“Conquer the…” He fumes. “What the hell are you—”
“Uh-uh. You don’t get the insulted pout on this one, North,” I interject. “You already know the full GPS on this. That if Arden even gets a whiff of your interest in his mate, you won’t get even three seconds to tap out an SOS signal.”
“Hismate?” His sulk billows into a full snort. “And that’s a viable thing right now…how? Last time I checked, the man’s leash was nowhere near her neck. His ring isn’t on her finger. So unless he’s stamped his brand on her ass—”
“How about we don’t go there and you just believe me?”
The verbal slam isn’t my preference, but it’s faster than option two: a full explanation of how Arden already did put a ring on it with Kell, only to drag that jewelry off of her finger and hurl it into the Pacific.
Even in that moment, a little over twenty-four hours ago, I winced when Arden let his temper override his logic. But I refrained from total blame. His emotion spoke volumes about his passion. In his admittedly bizarre way, the incubus already cares about Kell. But that’s not why I’m here now, in a glare-off with my best friend about it. Arden’s heart gets a drop of my concern. Jesse’s life takes up an ocean.
“You know what?” my buddy prompts, bringing me back to the moment. “That’s a great idea. Let’s really not go there—andyoujust believe that I’m actually smarter than one of your freshmen?”
I shove away from the wall. “Jesse.”
In the same three seconds, he’s popped his wheel locks and begun a rush for the elevator.
“Jesse!”
Shit. It’s a supreme effort not to bellow that part too. Even more of one not to sprint after him. When the man insists on retreating, he’s full lone wolf Clint Eastwood about it. Two decades of friendship have earned me expert status about that.
In all that time, we’ve survived plenty of spats—but not a single one has been about a female. Especially not one who’s been promised to an arrogant incubus in the name of preserving her family’s standing with the underworld.
