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Then Remus answers his own question. “But of course that was not enough for our father. Still, I do not think any of us believed Father would go further until he took the hell-metal sword and drove it through our brother’s heart right in front of us.”
Hannah-consort gasps, and her hand goes to her own heart. Her food lies untouched in front of her. We should not have told her this gory story. She and my kit need sustenance. Not depressing stories of a long-gone past.
“What happened then?” she whispers.
“Then Abaddon moved faster than I’ve ever seen,” Remus says. “There was no chance for our father to react. Abaddon yanked the sword out of his hand and drove it through our father’s heart just as he had done to our brother.” Remus cackles. “He looked so shocked that his most loyal dog would ever turn on him and bite so viciously. So fatally.”
“He was the one who needed to be put down,” I say.
It had been a simple decision in the moment, and one I’ve never regretted. If I have regrets, it is only that I did not act sooner. For then, I might be one brother richer. And much suffering throughout the world might have been avoided.
“Wow,” is all Hannah-consort says.
“Storytime is over,” I say concisely. “You must eat.”
“I don’t know if I still have an appetite after that.”
I growl disapprovingly. “We both know you do. Think of our kit. I will not tell you stories in the future if you will not eat.” I do not intend to tell her any more stories of the past, no matter what, but she does not need to know that.
At my words, she quickly grabs her plate and some utensils, obviously realizing I’m right about her appetite because she doesn’t even take her food upstairs to eat. Instead she tucks in right there, standing at the countertop.
Considering there is no longer a dining table upstairs after Romulus’s scrying incident, I suppose this will do. For now. I make a note to send my brothers out later to get fresh wood so that we might build another.
For my part, I will not be leaving my consort’s side.
Chapter Forty-Five
ABADDON
The next week, we spend much time in that kitchen.
And in the bed.
And against the wall.
And in the bathtub.
Then back to the kitchen.
Then on the dining room floor against the cool cobblestones because I cannot bear to wait for the whole climb back the six stories to our room. So, I throw my brothers out the door and tell them to go gather some trees for a new dining room table.
And then I toss my consort to the floor, flaring out my wings so she lands on feathers, then hike up her clothing, snuffle and tongue her to make sure she is slick enough for me, and at last thrust insight her tight little cunt.
Absolutely losing my goddamned mind as I whisper over and over in her ear, “You’re so fucking perfect. You’re so fucking mine. You’re so fucking perfect—”
All the while, she clenches and shudders around my cock, scrabbling for my horns to hold onto as I bring her to climax after climax with her tiny little hands—
So yes. There is lots of fucking. So much delicious fucking. Followed by meals that have taste to them. Followed by more of me clenching her knees to spread her sweet thighs apart and—
“Get your hand out of my goddamned face.”
“Which one?”
“All of them!” Remus shouts at Thing from in front of where Hannah-consort and I stand at the sidelines watching on as they try to assemble the new table. “Whore son of a bastard’s taint, if you don’t get your motherfucking cunt hand out of my face, I’ll slice it off!”
I look up reluctantly from Hannah-consort’s thigh, and my reminiscing of all our recent fucking.
I want to tug on her hand and give her the look that’s developed between us that communicates: let’s drop whatever we’re doing and go fuck right now.
But she just smiles and rolls her eyes at me before looking back to my brothers, where they’re struggling to construct the new dining table, and have been for several days now.
The entire first day was just spent arguing alternately with Romulus and Remus—the first because Monsieur Tactician was certain he knew the best way to construct the table and the second because he sensed conflict in the air and delighted in fucking with us all.
Thing stood by, usually with all six of his hands full with either boards or tools. At least once Romulus and I finally agreed on the best way to plane the raw trees down into boards. Like usually, Thing allows larger personalities to dominate, which gladdens me because on the rare occasions he does decide to voice an opinion, he can make a mountainous ass of himself.
