Tristian’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Is that so?”
“Not all of them,” I clarify, even though the enthusiasm in his voice makes my lips twitch. “Just the ones in public areas. Don’t you think so?”
“It’s a good idea,” Killian says, abandoning my lower back to rub some warmth into my arm. “Foyer, hallways, front and back door. Get the one in the garden, too.”
Dimitri goes to stash the finger while Tristian heads upstairs to handle the security from his laptop. Even after we’re alone, neither of us moves. It’s just so comfortable here, Killian’s body is warm and safe—another thought I never expected to have.
It’s weird. There’s no anger, no manipulation. Just two people comforting one another. It can only be one of two things: either Killian genuinely cares about me, or he’s just as freaked out about everything that happened here as I am.
Either way, I owe him this.
“Thank you,” I say, looking into his eyes when he turns his head to face me. “For getting here so fast, and talking me through it. I just—”
The kiss is broadcasted in a million ways. He hooks a finger under my chin, lifting it. He tips his face down and pauses for a millisecond, eyes heavy. I meet him there in the middle, ready to feel his tongue against mine, but unprepared for the gentle way he strokes our mouths together. I’m used to his hard, angry kisses. Kisses that are meant to claim and conquer. Kisses that leave me weak-kneed and breathless and vaguely embarrassed.
This kiss is slow and luscious and achingly tender.
“Little sister,” he says, lips brushing against mine, “we protect what’s ours.”
There’s not much time to dwell on what happened over the next few days.
Life, I’ve noticed, with these three, is a rollercoaster of peaks and valleys. They have one foot in and out of two worlds. There’s the first world, where intruders break into your house and leave decomposing fingers, and then the other, comprising football games, exams, and the daily monotony of college life.
More and more, I wonder how I’m a part of either.
As December crawls on, time unwilling to pause for the sake of catching our breaths, my Lords grow increasingly restless about it all. I can see it over dinner, snarky comments and arrogant smirks replaced with somber discussions about Kings and their crimes, brothels and informants, frats and their legacies. Despite the tension, they play nice, and with each of their lingering glances they think I don’t see, I suspect it’s because they want to keep me calm. I don’t hate them for it. In fact, I might just love them for it.
Such an odd notion.
Love.
It wasn’t very long ago the idea of anyone loving these three—let alone me—would have been outright laughable. These men aren’t made to be loved. They’re made to be hard and cruel, and avoided at all costs. Only now I’ve seen their softness. It’s there when Killian looks at me at night, just before we go to bed. He wants to ask to be let inside, but he doesn’t. I’m not stupid. He still paces the hallway, waiting. But he tries to hide it now.
The same softness is there when Dimitri sits beside me on the way to school, mouthing sweet, dirty words into my neck as he covertly composes a melody on my thigh. It’s there in the evenings, if I ask, because he’ll take me up to his room and play it for me on the piano, his dark gaze just as heavy with meaning as the music he plays. It says, Stay.
And Tristian.
Well, in some ways, he’s the easiest of all.
I curse when I see the laundry basket pushed into the corner of my bedroom. I’m wrapped in a towel, wet from the shower. I’d gone through all my clean underwear the day before and forgot to take the hamper down, so naturally Ms. Crane is going to kill me.
“Shit,” I mutter, rummaging through one of the drawers in the dresser. I’d worn them all. Even the basic cotton ones I arrived with got used during my period.
I pick up my phone and shoot off a text.
Lady: I need something.
Tristian’s response is immediate.
Lord T: Anything, sweetheart. I’m at your service.
I bite down on my lip to restrain my smile. The thing is, sometimes I think it’s completely genuine, as if I could ask him to walk in here on all fours and lick my toes. It’s an odd feeling, wondering if I should take advantage, test the bounds of it.
Lady: You wouldn’t happen to have bought me any bras or panties that you didn’t give me?
Lord T: Did Rath finally take them all?
Lady: Mine are all in the hamper. Dirty. Including the ones Dimitri returned when he cleaned his room. This week has been kind of crazy and I for—