Chapter 25 Briella
Briella
I STILL HAVE PLANS TO SET IN ORDER. I’LL START WITH RORY.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“I’m Not Okay”
“Who I Am”
Ifollow Raphael to the guest bedroom with Jude trailing behind.
The room is pretty bare, apart from the bed, the stand-up mirror in the corner of the room, and the hope chest at the foot of the bed.
Jude swallows hard when Raphael opens the chest. I purse my lips, wondering what the significance is. Holding the sheets tighter to myself, I watch Raphael as he shifts aside a handmade quilt, some old books, and a music box to unveil white fabric.
Then, he shakes it out.
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand, gushing over the dress.
“It’s beautiful,” I remark on the vintage white sundress with a pretty rose floral print, tiny roses. Short, capped sleeves with a little puff to them. Wherever did it come from?
“Strip,” Raphael orders. “Try it on.”
He stands back, tilting his head, eyes zeroed in on me.
Jude smiles at how I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to obey. My cheeks flush at the idea of being naked before them. In the daytime. Pissing naked in the bed was a victory. They were all focused more on what I was doing than what I looked like.
This is vulnerability. And I must find a way to deal with it. Still, I can’t believe how I can still feel shy after the Initiation.
One narrowing of Raphael’s eyes, and I drop the sheet until it slides off my body to a pool of fabric at my feet.
The bulge in Jude’s pants doesn’t escape my notice. My clit is still tingling from him giving me five orgasms in a row. He came twice. How can he possibly be hard?
“Fuck, Babydoll.” Jude’s hungry gaze rakes over me. Raphael’s prowls.
It feels different than the shower. Even the water seemed like a buffer.
And it was only Jude. I know I have bigger tits than the average girl.
I’m not a stick in any sense of the word.
Not really slender either. I’m in that happy medium between slender and curvy.
But leaning more toward curvy with my plumper ass and round hips.
Jude approaches me, and I hold my breath as his form towers over me. Raphael trains a keen eye on him, but Jude cups the side of my face, thumbing my cheek. “How do you feel?”
I knit my brows, confused until I register his question is more clinical. Though he re-wrapped my wounds in the bathroom, I love how he’s still checking on me. Ugh, between those cheekbones and Raphael’s eyes, I’m on the verge of melting.
Jude stations his hands just below my breasts, his fingers brushing their undersides. But he’s more concerned with the bandages he applied around my torso. Others stick to my back with plastic wrap over them if I want to take a shower or bath later.
“Goddess, you’re a sight,” Jude murmurs in his deep baritone. “Pure fantasy. Feast for the eyes.”
“Jude,” Raphael’s voice sharpens before he extends the hand clutching the dress to me. Jude steps back, his eyes not leaving my body.
I rush to put it on, smiling because it fits.
A little snug at my hips and bottom, but it has a pretty flare at the midriff line.
I wander to the mirror to look at myself.
The cut is much lower than I thought it would be.
A V-neckline that would cover a less endowed girl.
But the empire waist cinches nicely. I love the puffy cap sleeves.
“Very lovely,” Jude compliments me. “I may have a little addition.” He retrieves something from his pocket, and I practically beam at him as he fastens the pearl necklace around my throat.
I touch my fingertips to them. They’re tiny…
like white seeds and genuine if I had to guess.
Again, I can’t help but wonder where they came from.
But I’m more curious about the dress. I know I shouldn’t, but I turn to Raphael and wonder, “Where did you—”
“No questions,” he interrupts, shoulders visibly tensing. I lower my chin, nodding, which seems to help.
But I’m not about to let it go so easily. Just like they’re not about to let me go. But I have seventeen plants at home that depend on me. The more I get to know about these gods, the more I can find a weakness.
I can’t run off half-cocked. I’m not stupid. I’ll need to heal. Need survivor supplies. Maybe I’ll luck out and find a phone.
In the meantime, I’ll milk these five days for all they’re worth.
“Anything else you need?” Raphael asks, arms crossed over his chest.
I look up at the cap. And smile.
A few minutes later, I descend the staircase, wincing at the pain. Jude takes my arm, offering his support. The smell coming from the kitchen is amazing! I guess he was right about Rory being a good cook.
The staircase opens right into the kitchen. Vincent and Seth are setting the table when I emerge.
“Holy fuck!” exclaims Seth, dropping the silverware onto the table. His eyes gleam as they roam across me. I can’t help but feel a smile curving my lips.
Vincent pauses, too, giving me a once-over. A muscle bounces in his jaw, but aside from that, he doesn’t react. He just goes back to laying out the plates.
Seth wanders over, nodding to my head. “Is she wearing his—”
Jude chuckles, playing with a few of my curls. “That she is.”
I make a show of tugging the tip of the newsboy cap. To be fair, Raphael did ask if I wanted anything else. I was just surprised when he didn’t stop me from taking his hat. I pulled my damp curls into a messy half-braid, leaving some hair loose and free.
“Aww, don’t ye look sweet with my teeth marks on your chest, Lass,” Rory says from the kitchen, holding a wooden cooking spoon before returning to the stove top.
His eyes glint with satisfaction as he tilts the pan, spilling the hollandaise sauce like a golden ribbon over the perfectly poached eggs, crisp bacon, and fluffy English muffin.
His fingers move with skill, too practiced and controlled for a man who gets such a thrill from whipping and fucking so violently.
A beep signals, and I eye him as he turns the stove off, then slides over to the waffle iron on the counter. On the right-hand side, a plate sits, stacked high with Belgian waffles.
Jude helps me to the table, pulling out a chair for me. While I’m a little surprised, I don’t bring up how it’s the opposite end of the table…across from Raphael at the head. Has it been empty all this time?
Seth sits directly to my left, Jude to my right, with Vincent on his right. Rory’s chair must be the one diagonal to me. Yeah, I imagine Seth and Raphael are the only ones who could have Rory between them.
With a flourish, Rory sets two plates before me, and my mouth waters at the scent of warm strawberries mingling with the buttery richness of the hollandaise.
He drizzles the berries over the golden Belgian waffle, their juices seeping into the crisp edges, then dusts a light snowfall of powdered sugar across the top.
He even adds a sprig of thyme before making an exaggerated motion of kissing his fingertips.
Even the eggs Benedict seem to gleam with the velvet sauce.
Rory takes his seat. But before I can lift my fork, Jude takes my hand. The others follow suit, hands uniting.
My brows lift with surprise as Jude clears his throat, his voice deep and steady.
“We give thanks for the harvest, the hands that prepared this meal, and the blood that binds us.” Then, after a slight pause, his gaze flicks toward me.
“And for our Queen, who has taken her rightful place at our table.”
My fingers tighten around the fork, but I say nothing. The word Queen lingers in the air, settling over me like a weight I don’t know if I want to carry. None of them seems to expect a response, though. They just watch, waiting.
“My hands prepared the meal.” Rory winks, flashing his fingers at me. “Wouldn’t you love to know where they’ve been, little Lass?”
“I know where they will be if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Vincent mutters from his side of the table and digs into his food.
Holding back a smile, I cut into the waffle, scooping up a bite heavy with strawberries and sugar, and slide it past my lips. The flavors explode—rich, tart, sweet, perfectly balanced. I almost melt until I notice Rory’s eyes glued to me, his food untouched like the others.
Taking a bite of the eggs Benedict, I pretend to consider. I look at Raphael. Should’ve figured his eyes were already on mine. I’m still considering, but he nods firmly to me, already predicting my judgment.
Finally, I shrug and turn to Rory, smiling sweetly. “It’s truly a comfort to know you have some talent other than being a giant dick all the time.”
The others ripple breathy laughter.
A sharp grin splits across Rory’s face. “Careful, Firecracker. Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might start to think ye like me.”
“None of us like you,” Jude adds, cutting a small portion of his eggs. “Except Seth, of course.”
“I like everyone.” The lumberjack winks at me, reaching over to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. I blush because he looks so handsome with his hair tousled to one side, and the red plaid shirt suits him. Not that I’m ready to forgive him. Or any of them.
I still have plans to set in order. I’ll start with Rory.
“We only keep him around for the food,” adds Vincent.
Rory leans back, stretching his arms and grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “People gotta eat.”
Something rubs my foot, and I lower my brows.
“Seth, quit playing footsie with mi’Lass.” Rory elbows him. “Eat yer eggs.”
Seth winks at me. I roll my eyes.
“Who taught you to cook?” I ask Rory, noting how the others straighten, their eyes flicking to him.
He stiffens, then leans back, his jaw hardening. “My Gran.” Grandmother. I want to ask where she is now, what she would think of him, but I pick up on the tension. Better not to probe.
He even followed through with the fresh-squeezed orange juice. “Any decent coffee here?” I ask.
“I’ll make some after breakfast,” Rory offers.
“Don’t forget your Scotch,” Vincent mutters.
I lift my brows, and Rory waves a dismissive hand. “Coffee’s best when spiked.”
Hmm…That gives me an idea.
“So, you can cook, Red,” I point out, waving my strawberry-covered fork at him. “Can you bake?”
“Oh, lawwwd!” Seth says with a clump of waffle in his mouth. “You should try his scones.”
Yes, the perfect idea comes to me. When Jude ventured to the bathroom closet to add another bandage, I caught a glimpse of something…something diabolical I could use.
Cupping my chin, I lean far to my left, getting closer to the redhead across from me. He lifts a brow, but his lips tug into a smirk beneath his short beard.
It’s infuriating how good he looks being so damn smug.
Dastardly, utterly villainous, but magnetic in a way that makes my pulse jump.
Not seductive like Jude, who lures with whispers and silk.
No, Rory doesn’t lure you in. You crash into him, and by the time you realize your mistake, it’s too late. He’s already got you.
I imagine him slamming me against the wall, breath hot against my throat, his beard scraping over every inch of my skin like an intense burn. Hands rough and commanding. No coaxing, no teasing—just raw and merciless. The way his lips curl tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Smug bastard.
“See something ye like, Lass?” he goads me, pushing up just enough from his chair to invade my space, his hot breath ghosting over my lips.
The others stare at us. The raw tension is so thick, it gets me wet. But the idea of revenge? Yeah, that gets me wetter.
I grin, setting my plan in motion. “I’d like it more if I saw you on your knees begging for forgiveness when I wipe the floor with you in a bake-off.”
A fork drops. But I don’t flinch or look away from the man before me. Seth whistles long and slow. At first, Rory merely smiles…until he tilts his head, his smile growing into a knavish grin. “Sure you want to go at it with me, Lass? There be other ways ye can bring me to my knees.”
“Scared?”
His brows screw low. A second later, he grips my throat.
Vincent gets to his feet, but Raphael raises his hand, stopping him. Because Rory’s fingers aren’t digging in. No, for once, he’s touching me in a way I’ve never felt. His fingers are tender, caressing my skin. My belly should not be somersaulting right now.
When his lips rub my jawline, it takes everything in me not to whimper. But I still betray myself, swallowing hard beneath his hand. “If I win, Firecracker,” he purrs near my ear, “ye’ll be on yer knees for the next five days at every meal, waiting for me to feed you. Buck fucking naked.”
Even if I lose, it’ll be worth it.
“Done.”
He slams his mouth against mine, devouring, feeding, taking. I guess that seals the deal.