Chapter Eight
Iblinked away the prickly feeling in my eyes as I chopped the onions Tristan had given me. The kitchen was warm and fragrant with the scent of sizzling garlic and herbs, and right now it felt like an insulated bubble away from the world outside. I liked it here, liked the sense of domesticity that had been missing in my life for so long, even though I knew it was only temporary. I snuck glances at Tristan as he sailed smoothly around the kitchen, checking different pots and pans and chopping other vegetables at a truly terrifying speed. He seemed totally at ease in the kitchen, and completely in his element.
“Smells amazing,” Bast”s voice had me glancing up at the doorway, my heart jumping at the sight of him and Nate standing there. Bast was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black shirt, Nate in sandy combats and a black t-shirt that hugged him in all the right places.
“Tapas. Thought you”d be hungry,” Tristan said, not looking up from where he was carefully spooning something into a terracotta dish.
“Starved,” Bast confirmed, his gaze sweeping across the countertops filled with Tristan”s creations before settling on me. “Paige, you doing ok?” His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes that made me feel warm.
I nodded, placing the knife down on the chopping board.
“Yeah, I called my mum, just to fill her in on where I was in case she… suddenly decided to visit. She”s actually happy about me living here.” There was a bitter twist to my words. My mother”s idea of happiness always came with strings attached.
“Good to hear.” Bast leaned against the counter.
“Onions, sunshine,” said Tristan, and I pushed the board towards him with a smile, before looking back over at the other guys.
“Did you have a good afternoon?” I asked, suddenly feeling shy now we were all in the same room.
Bast shrugged. “Not wonderful, but we hit the gym on the way back. Nate got a good go at the punching bag, so at least we got to work out some tensions.” His eyes flicked past me to Tristan, as something passed between the two of them that I didn’t quite understand.
I glanced over at Nate, suddenly noticing the dark stain of blood on the back of his hand. A knot formed in my stomach as I set the knife down, moving towards him.
“Your hand...” I started, reaching out to take his hand. He flinched before I made contact, stepping back with a guarded look in his eyes.
“It”s nothing,” he muttered.
“Let me see,” I insisted, heart pounding at the thought of him hurt. Nate shook his head.
“It”s not mine,” he said, his voice low and laced with a warning I couldn”t ignore.
“Oh.” My stomach did a somersault. “Who…”
“It turns out your night watchman was taking bribes to let a certain person into the building in the early hours,” said Bast.
My mouth fell open. “He did? Is that what you…” my eyes dropped back to Nate’s knuckles, and the blood stains. “You hurt him?”
“He was the reason that fucker got near your room at all, Paige,” said Bast. There was a strange tone in his voice, as though he was waiting to see how I’d react. I wasn’t sure what to say. They’d hurt him because he’d put me in danger. Had they seriously hurt him? Surely, not. They wouldn”t seriously hurt someone, would they? I looked up at Nate, his dark eyes fixed on mine, almost challenging me. Yes, they would, I realised, and for some reason, the thought had heat rushing to my core. My lips parted as I looked back down at the blood on Nate’s hands, and suddenly I wanted his mouth on mine. I stepped towards him, not sure what I was doing, but he turned, and walked out.
“Is he...” I started, but the question died on my lips. Tristan and Bast shared a look that spoke volumes—things were better left unsaid.
“It’s not you, Sunshine. Let him be,” Tristan murmured, his focus returning to the sizzling pan before him. The aroma of garlic and spices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension that lingered like a bad aftertaste.
I nodded, though the image of Nate”s bloodied knuckles stayed with me, imprinted behind my eyelids. There was something thrilling, something dangerous about Nate, and despite myself, I was drawn to it. I wanted to know more, but I kept quiet.
“Come sit,” Bast commanded.
“Thanks.” My response was automatic as I took the seat, my mind still on Nate.
“Paige, don”t take it personally. Nate doesn”t do well with touch. Hasn”t since we were kids.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not something he talks about. He’s fine when he’s fighting, or if he’s in control, like at the Club, but not at any other time.”
When we were at the club… when I was restrained, or on my knees in front of him, or when he’d pinned me on his lap. When he was in control, I realised. Nate needed control as much as Bast, but there was a different quality about it with Nate. Bast preferred control, but Nate feared losing it. I wished I could ask him why, but clearly it was something very private, if even Bast and Tristan didn’t know the reason for it.
“Hey, dinner”s ready.” Tristan set a bottle of wine on the table and Bast reached for it, opening it and sharing it between four glasses.
“This looks amazing, Tris,” I said, looking at our dinner in awe. The tapas spread across the table, an array of colours and smells that made my stomach growl. I reached out, snagging an olive and popped it in my mouth.
Bast gave a frustrated huff next to me, and reached for a plate, piling it high with something from each dish, before setting it in front of me.
“Eat,” he growled.
I bit my lip, then picked up a fork and dug in. Bast waited until I’d eaten four mouthfuls, before picking up a plate for himself.
“Tristan, this is incredible,” I said between mouthfuls.
“I love to cook,” he admitted. “It”s like painting, but with flavours. Always trying something new. Life’s too short for bland meals.”
I took another bite and then a sip of the wine, which was delicious.
“With your skills, did you ever think about being a chef?”
A brief shadow passed over his face and he glanced at Bast.
“Well, yes, it would have been nice to go down that path, but...”
“But it’s tricky with families like ours,” Bast finished for him. “Our paths are decided for us. The Shadow Syndicate doesn”t take kindly to dreams that don”t align with their vision.”
I felt a chill creep up my spine at his words. It was one thing to know about the darkness that surrounded them, another to hear them acknowledge it so openly.
“Following in their footsteps is more than an expectation; it”s our legacy,” Tristan added, turning back to the stove. “But it’s also an honour, and it means we’re respected by our peers and our elders. It’s a family, and we all play our part.”
Silence fell over the kitchen, and I thought about what they were saying. Their lives were elitist, and they’d never suffer from poverty, but at the same time, their lives weren”t just bound by loyalty or blood—it was a web of shadows from which dreaming of a different life seemed almost a betrayal. My heart ached for Tristan at that moment. He should be free to follow his own dreams, not the future the Syndicate planned for him.
My thoughts drifted back to my own parents. They’d been forced out of this society that they put so much importance on, that had meant they wasted their own lives always trying to get back into it, but they’d put all their expectations on me to find a suitable marriage match to raise them back up again, like we were in some fucking Regency drama. I’d never been their daughter, just a bargaining chip, some prized mare. They”d never cared for what I wanted. I would only ever be a pawn to them. I knew this by heart, but there was still some small part of me that whispered if I could make a match, if I could marry someone they deemed suitable, maybe then I would matter.
Nate”s appearance in the doorway startled me out of my thoughts. Dressed now in grey sweatpants clinging to his hips and a black tank top that clung to each muscle and displayed his tattoo sleeves, he was a walking masterpiece. My heart jumped at the sight of him, and I felt the spark of desire in my belly.
“Looking better, Nate,” Bast commented, an edge of jest in his voice.
“Feel better,” Nate replied gruffly, padding barefoot toward us.
I couldn”t help but stare; the play of light on his inked skin drew my gaze like moths to a flame. The lines of a dragon snaked over his arm, its scales shimmering subtly as he moved—a dance of art and power.
“Nice ink,” I said, almost without thinking.
Nate glanced at me, a flicker of something undefinable crossing his expression. “Thanks,” he said, his voice softer than I expected. He slid into the seat next to me, his eyes glancing over my face and then down at my plate. What he saw clearly passed his inspection, because he nodded and reached for his own plate.
“You ok?” Nate asked me suddenly.
“Yes, thanks.” I smiled at him, but he just nodded once, and began to eat.
I picked at my food, sneaking glances at him as we ate. He kept to himself, a fortress of solitude amidst the chatter and laughter that bounced between Tristan and Bast. Something in his quiet intensity resonated with me. It was as though I could feel his harrowing past, his turbulent thoughts, and the darkness that clung to him seeping through his muscles and into the air around us. I wanted to know more about him, about what made him so guarded, but I knew better than to pry.
“Where”s Paige sleeping?” Tristan asked suddenly. “Her room isn’t ready yet.”
I frowned at him. “My room?”
Bast nodded. “We have a bedroom for your use, only we decided a couple of weeks ago to redecorate it, which is why we hadn’t asked you to move in yet. The role of Persephone is usually a live-in position.”
Ah yes, my role involved me being pretty much on call for these men to use as and whenever they wanted. The memory of the clause and implications of what that meant made me face heat.
“You didn’t need to redecorate,” I mumbled.
“We wanted it to be yours,” said Tristan. “It wasn’t right before.”
“Anyway, it isn’t ready yet, so we’ll need to make other arrangements for the next few days.”
“Well, I can crash on the couch,” said Tristan. “You can take my room, Paige.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to say I couldn”t possibly displace him, but Nate suddenly looked up.
“She”ll stay in my room.” He stood up, towering and imposing, his tattoos etched into his skin like battle scars under the dim light. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips; his black tank top emphasised the breadth of his shoulders.
“I don”t sleep much. No arguments.”
Surprise flitted through me, chased by an odd sense of warmth at his assertiveness. The offer was stripped bare of any pretence, just like everything else about Nate—raw and unapologetic.
“But you...” I stammered out, thrown off guard by his declaration.
“I don”t sleep much anyway,” he replied simply in between bites of food. “It makes sense.”
His gaze met mine, burning into me with an intensity that was as thrilling as it was terrifying. I could see a hint of challenge in their depths - a silent imploration for me to defy him, to prove him wrong. But I didn”t. Instead, I lowered my eyes and nodded, accepting his words without further protest.
Nate’s declaration had left me reeling. I felt like his room was a glimpse into his privacy, his sanctuary. The thought of stepping into that intimate space made my heart flutter with anticipation.
As the meal drew to an end, I helped Tristan clear away the dishes while Bast loaded the dishwasher. Nate disappeared without a word.
“Is it ok, me sleeping in Nate’s room?” I whispered to Tristan. “I didn’t think he’d want me to, and I don’t want him to feel obligated.”
Bast turned to me with a small smile playing across his lips. “Nate doesn’t do anything out of obligation. Don”t worry about it, Paige. He”ll look after you.”
“It”s not that,” I started to protest but then paused. What could I say without appearing ungrateful or making a fuss?
“I understand,” Bast continued, “Nate”s intensity might be... overwhelming at times. But he”ll respect your space. Now go and chill out for a bit, Paige. Tris and I will clean up.”
“But-”
“Now, Paige.” His tone was stern, so I set down the cloth I’d been holding and scurried out of the kitchen. I retreated to the living room, pulling out my sketchbook from my bag. I took comfort in drawing, in losing myself in the strokes of graphite against paper. The rhythmic scratching of the pencil was soothing, working through my unease like a mantra.
As I sketched aimlessly, I found my thoughts gravitating back to Nate. There was a rawness about him that pulled me in, an intensity that both intrigued and unnerved me. He was like a tempest—wild and unpredictable—a storm that promised to be as destructive as it was beautiful.
My fingers traced the outlines of the face forming on the paper—the sharp jawline, the ruggedly handsome features...it was Nate. His image had completely taken over my thoughts, though I hadn’t purposely intended to draw him.
“What are you drawing?” Tristan was heading into the living room, and I quickly closed my sketchbook. I suddenly felt like I was intruding on Nate’s privacy, to capture his likeness without his permission.
“Nothing, just doodles,” I said, smiling at him. “It”s getting late, and it’s been a long day. Would Nate mind if I went up now?”
Tristan reached down, grabbing my hand and pulling me up. He slipped his arms around me, and pressed his lips gently to my forehead.
“Of course not,” he reassured me. “It”s your home now, Paige. You don”t need permission to exist here. Come on, I”ll show you the way.”
I called goodnight to Bast as we passed the kitchen, and he gave me a brief smile. As we made our way through the large townhouse, Tristan pointed out different rooms— the study, a pool room, lounges filled with expensive-looking furniture—and finally, we stopped before a door on the top floor.
“This is Nate”s room,” Tristan said. “Relax, he doesn’t bite.”
He pulled me back into his arms, and bent down to kiss me thoroughly, leaving me gasping for breath.
“Tris, what are you doing?” I smiled up at him.
“Well, you’re about to go and sleep in another man’s bed. I just want to make sure you still dream of me,” he grinned, and I laughed.
“You have a rather high opinion of yourself, don’t you? Thinking I”m going to dream about you just because of a kiss.”
Tristan’s grin took on a different tone, and he turned me, pinning me against the wall, his hands sliding up my arms to pin them above my head, and I sucked in my breath as he leaned closer. His knee slid between my legs, nudging them apart as he bent to kiss me again.
His lips were insistent, fierce and all-consuming. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the intoxicating sensation. My heart pounded in my chest like a wild drum as Tristan broke the kiss.
“Sleep well,” he murmured, his breath fanning over my flushed cheek before he let me go with a teasing wink and disappeared down the corridor.
I was left panting against the wall, a slow smile pulling at my lips. Shaking off the dizzying aftermath of Tristan’s kiss, I turned to face Nate”s door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked.
“Come in.”
I opened the door slowly and stepped inside. It was dark inside, the only light coming from a lamp on a large desk against one wall. I was hit with a wave of Nate’s scent; a mix of sandalwood and something headier that I couldn”t quite place. I looked around, taking in the sparse but neat room. It mirrored its owner – everything in its place – no clutter or unnecessary items; simple and self-contained with a heavy undertow of understated luxury. A desk, chest of drawers and a large black velvet armchair. A tall bookcase stood on the far wall, and I was surprised to see it stocked with paperbacks. I would not have thought Nate was the type of guy to spend time reading, but clearly I had misjudged him. My eyes landed on the king-sized bed in the middle, and my heart skipped a beat at the thought of sharing that space.
Nate came out of a door on the left that I guessed led to a bathroom. He walked over and held out a white T-shirt.
“Here. Something to sleep in until your things get here.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded towards the bed. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“Oh.”
“Is that ok?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, but I mean, it’s a big bed, if you wanted to…”
His eyes dropped down my body, and for a moment I wish I’d changed out of Tristan’s hoodie and the spare sweatpants he’d found me. I wasn’t exactly alluring in this outfit. Clearly, not, as Nate looked back up to my face and shook his head.
“No. I’ll take the chair. I’ll leave you to get changed.”
The rejection hit like a blow to my stomach, but I bit my lip and tried not to show it as he walked out of the room. I changed quickly, sliding under the covers before he came back in. I realised as I did that the sheets were fresh - he must have come up and changed them after dinner. It had been thoughtful of him, and they felt lovely, but I privately admitted I would have liked to have fallen asleep surrounded by his scent.
I waited a few minutes to see if he would come back. It was probably too early for him to come to bed. When he didn’t, I slipped out of bed and through the door into his bathroom. It was dark, with slate tiles and soft lighting flooding out from under the units along one wall. I glanced around but couldn’t find what I wanted, so I opened the cupboards in the unit. One held a pull out basket, and I dragged it out, sifting through the contents before pulling out a long sleeved black T-shirt he’d worn. I raised it to my face to breathe in his scent, but another smell hit me and I looked closer at the fabric. It was wet and shiny. I ran my fingers over it and stared at the red stain in shock. I’d known his knuckles had dried blood on, but the T-shirt was damp with it. That was a lot of blood.
I swallowed, and reached deeper into the basket for a dry tank top, before replacing the damp one and sliding the basket back inside the cupboard. I washed my hands then headed back to bed, feeling a little on autopilot, as my mind turned over and over. Kate and her friends had told me these guys were dangerous, but I’d ignored her. They were rich trust fund kids of billionaires who ran businesses. How dangerous could they really be? Dangerous enough to spill blood apparently. That wasn’t blood from a nosebleed, or a split lip. Nate had really hurt that guy because he’d put me in danger. I should report him or tell him he was way, way out of order. Yes, I should, I thought, as I snuggled down into the huge bed, Nate’s tank top hugged to my chest, and fell asleep.