Chapter Eight #2
Twenty minutes later, they sat at the kitchen table surrounded by pack members who tried and failed to pretend they weren't fascinated by Newt.
Preston kept sneaking glances at his back, clearly hoping for a wing sighting.
Jalen asked about a dozen questions about fae magic, each one making Newt squirm in his seat.
Quinn had outdone himself with breakfast—platters of French toast, bacon, fresh fruit, and enough coffee to fuel a small army. Vaughn filled his plate then added extra for Newt when he noticed his mate taking tiny portions.
“You need to eat,” he said, sliding more French toast onto Newt’s plate.
“I’m not sure I can fit all that in my body,” Newt protested. “There’s a size differential issue here.”
“Try.” Vaughn cut a piece and held it out on his fork.
Newt’s eyes widened slightly, but he leaned forward and took the offered bite. His lips closed around the fork, eyes never leaving Vaughn’s. Something hot and possessive stirred in Vaughn’s chest at the sight.
“Good?” he asked, voice dropping lower.
Newt nodded, chewing slowly. “Very.”
Across the table, Preston made a choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter. Zeppelin cleared his throat pointedly.
“So,” the alpha said, “we should discuss security measures. Those vampires are still out there, and they’ve got Newt’s scent.”
“They’ve also doubled in number,” Newt added, wincing. “Thanks to my spell gone wrong.”
“Doubled?” Quinn’s eyebrows shot up.
“Instead of making them disappear, I accidentally copied them. So now there are six instead of three.”
Preston looked impressed. “That’s actually kind of cool.”
“Not when they’re trying to drain you,” Newt muttered.
Vaughn’s hand found Newt’s knee under the table, squeezing gently. “We’ll handle the vampires.”
“And my father,” Newt added quietly. “He’ll come looking for me eventually.”
Conversation stalled as everyone absorbed this. Vaughn felt Newt tense beside him, bracing for questions.
“Well,” Zeppelin said finally, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, no one goes out alone, especially after dark.”
The conversation shifted to patrol schedules and security measures. Throughout it all, Vaughn kept feeding Newt bites of French toast, enjoying the way his mate’s cheeks flushed each time their eyes met.
After breakfast, they escaped back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind them with a decisive click.
“Your friends are nice,” Newt said, perching on the edge of the bed. “Nosy, but nice.”
“They grow on you,” Vaughn agreed, crossing to stand in front of him. “Like a friendly fungus.”
Newt laughed, the sound trailing off as Vaughn moved closer, nudging his knees apart to stand between them. The height difference put them nearly eye-to-eye with Newt sitting and Vaughn standing.
“So,” Vaughn said, hands coming to rest on Newt’s thighs, “where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by breakfast?”
“I believe you were about to continue my education on proper kissing techniques.” Newt’s voice came out breathier than before.