Silas
There are exactly three things I register the second I open my eyes.
One—my back is killing me. There’s a spring in this mattress and it’s trying to claim my soul.
Two—my face is inches from Elias’s. Inches. As in, if I breathe too deep, we’ll accidentally kiss and then probably die.
And three—his arm. His arm is around me.
Not just slung, not just casually draped. Tucked. Possessively. Comfortably. As if this man, this silver-eyed snark goblin, chose to spoon me like I’m the comforting lullaby that gets him through the night.
I go still. Utterly, painfully still.
His breath brushes my cheek. His lashes twitch. And then, the worst part—he snuggles closer.
A sound—feral, muffled, wholly unmanly—punches out of my throat. Somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper. I clamp my hand over my mouth too late. His eyes crack open.
And of course they’re molten silver. Of course they’re bedroom-eyed and sleep-drunk and unfairly pretty. Because gods forbid I suffer in peace.
For one perfect second, we both just blink. Me, frozen in existential terror. Him, still high on dreams and the warmth of a body he very clearly thinks is Luna’s.
And then realization hits him like a brick.
We both flinch.
His arm yanks back like I’ve suddenly grown spikes. We scramble apart with all the grace of two rats abandoning a sinking ship, limbs tangling in the sheets, me smacking into the headboard, Elias thudding to the floor with a grunt of betrayal.
“The fuck, ?!”
“You spooned me! You curled! You were the big spoon, Elias!”
“That’s a lie, I was behind—”
“Oh no, I know where Riven is. That’s his arm wrapped around me now, which means yours was—you spooned me!”
From the floor, Elias stares up at me, hair mussed, shirt twisted, dignity in shreds.
“I thought you were Luna.”
“Do I feel like Luna?!”
“No! But—warmth! And your shampoo smells expensive!”
I open my mouth. Close it. Because it is expensive, but that’s beside the point.
There’s a low growl from behind me. A rustle of blankets.
Riven.
Still tucked against my back like some vengeful, half-asleep protector of dreams. He tightens his arm and pulls me back with all the force of a possessive cat claiming its territory. My spine meets his chest. And yeah, now I’m the meat in a very uncomfortable, very wrong spooning sandwich.
Luna, of course, is passed out diagonally across the mattress, one leg flung off the edge, blanket tangled around her waist like royalty who just knows we’d kill each other for a chance to be near her.
She murmurs something in her sleep and shifts.
Elias, flat on the floor, stares up at the ceiling like it holds all the answers.
“Never again,”
he whispers.
“This is why I don’t share beds.”
“You didn’t share,”
I hiss.
“You invaded.”
Behind me, Riven exhales against my neck.
I consider letting the bed swallow me whole. Instead, I lie there. Cursed. Claimed. Absolutely done with everything. And try not to think about the fact that, honestly? I kind of liked it. Gods help me.
The thing about Riven? He doesn’t snuggle. Riven threatens. Riven glowers. Riven speaks with the conviction of a thunderstorm mid-murder. He does not, under any known celestial law, snuggle.
Which is why I do the only logical thing a man in my position can do. I turn over—very, very slowly—and tuck his big, burly, wrath-drenched body against mine.
Then I lower my head. Just slightly. Just enough to nestle my nose under his chin like we’re lovers reunited after years apart. Like I’m the soft, vulnerable thing he fought through a thousand realms to reclaim.
And I wait.
The bed creaks slightly. Luna sighs in her sleep. Elias, curled in a blanket cocoon on the floor, mutters something abou.
“never trusting anyone again.”
None of it matters. All that matters is that Riven, the literal embodiment of fury with fists, is breathing deeply against me. Still asleep.
Still cuddling.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I can feel the moment awareness starts to creep into his massive, battle-scarred body. His fingers twitch. His spine stiffens.
I don’t move. I don’t blink. I nuzzle.
The rumble he makes against my forehead isn’t human. It’s low. Threatening. A growl dredged up from the bottom of some abyss.
And still I stay.
Because I am Veyd. I have no survival instinct. Only chaos and a deeply concerning attachment to watching Riven panic.
He shifts. Pulls back slightly. Then—freezes.
I peek up at him from beneath my lashes. His red eyes are open. Glowing faintly in the dark. Locked onto mine.
His expression?
Murderous.
I grin.
“Morning, sunshine.”
A full second passes. Then he launches back with such force the entire bed jostles. Luna makes a disgruntled noise and rolls over, stealing the blanket in one motion. Riven’s on his feet like he’s been burned, glaring down at me with betrayal etched into every inch of him.
“You—”
he rasps, voice half smoke, half slaughter.
“Me,”
I say sweetly, stretching out like a satisfied cat.
“And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”
“You curled into me.”
“You pulled me in first. It’s in the rulebook—if Wrath initiates the snuggle, I’m contractually obligated to reciprocate.”
“There’s no rulebook.”
“There is now.”
He stalks off, muttering obscenities in a language that hasn’t been spoken in six hundred years. I bask in the glory of his retreat, then flop onto my back and sigh contentedly.
Luna’s eyes crack open. She peers over at me, half-asleep, one brow raised.
“You’re a menace,”
she mumbles.
I wink.
“And your menace, sweetheart. Don’t forget it.”
She groans and buries her face in the stolen blanket.
And me? I grin into the quiet, because this—this—is home. Even when it shouldn’t be. Even when everything outside this room is madness. Inside it, we’re all just monsters trying not to love each other too loudly.
She moves. Not with fanfare. Not with a sleepy groan and a dramatic stretch. Just… slowly. Like drifting fog, like she was always meant to end up here, pressed against my side.
Her eyes are still closed. Her breathing soft. But the second her hand curls under my shirt, settling against the bare skin of my stomach like it's hers to claim, I know she’s not asleep. Not even close.
And if she is? Then it’s sleepwalking blessed by the gods, and I’ll take that kind of divine intervention all night long. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t open her eyes. Just tucks herself against me like the world hasn’t tried a thousand ways to tear us apart.
I swallow hard. My arm curls around her almost instinctively, careful not to jostle her. Careful not to wake the monster in my ribcage that starts gnashing its teeth every time she gets this close. Because I’m chaos. I’m the Sin that pulls apart the seams. And she—she stitches things.
And that makes her dangerous.
I tilt my head just enough to murmur into her hair.
“You do realize I’m scarred now, right? Permanently marked. I’ll need trauma counseling and nightly wine therapy after Elias and Riven decided to treat me like a plush toy.”
From the floor, Elias grumbles something unintelligible that sounds suspiciously like you’re welcome.
Riven, mercifully, says nothing.
Luna hums—this tiny pleased sound—then nuzzles deeper into my side.
No one sees this part of her. No one gets this softness. This quiet, molten warmth. It’s for me. Just like the bond between us. Just like the first time I felt her magic crawl through my blood and whisper mine.
I bury my face in her hair for a second, letting myself have it. Not forever. Just here. Just now.
“You know,”
I whisper.
“if you’re trying to kill me slowly, it’s working.”
She says nothing. But her fingers flex slightly against my skin. Her thumb brushes over the sharp dip of my hip bone.
And I swear I feel her smile.
I close my eyes.
And for a moment—just one—I forget we’re walking toward a war. That Daemon’s cursed bones are rising from the dirt. That Branwen still holds two of ours like prized dolls she hasn’t finished ripping apart.
Right now, in the small sacred stillness of this shitty inn room, I have her. And that’s enough. But it won’t be for long. Because morning is coming. And the gods are cruel.
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let me have peace.
She’s warm and sweet beside me, fingers curled against my ribs like I’m her favorite stuffed animal. For a moment I thought maybe she’d just drift off like this, quiet and content.
But then the bond hums—no, purrs—inside me.
A flicker. Then a spark. Then a slow, syrupy slide of want that doesn't belong to me.
Luna.
The image she pushes through the bond is clear enough: my mouth on her neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, her breathy gasp in my ear. And gods, she’s not subtle about it. No build-up. No gentle flirtation. Just pure, molten, Lust-level filth sent straight to my brain like she’s trying to short-circuit it.
My whole body jerks, muscles tensing, breath catching. I try not to make a sound, but my exhale is a little too sharp. I glance toward her.
Her eyes are still closed.
Liar.
I grit my teeth and think, That’s dirty play, sweetheart.
The image sharpens: her pulling me down on top of her, nails digging into my back, her thighs clenching around me. That little smirk I know she wears when she’s being an absolute menace is painted behind my eyes like she’s tattooed it there.
You think you’re clever, I send back through the bond. But I’ve had wet dreams less detailed than that.
She shifts, just slightly, like she’s proud of herself. Which, fair. She should be. I’m seconds away from combusting and we haven’t even moved.
But I’m not Lust. I don’t go quietly. I bite back.
I close my eyes and let the bond fill with my thoughts—tangled sheets, her wrists pinned above her head, her whispering my name like she means it. Her begging.
I feel her breath hitch against my chest.
Then I twist the proverbial knife.
But you wouldn’t last five minutes, I say through the bond, voice silken with sin. You’d be making those pretty little whimpers you try to hide, and I wouldn’t stop until you forgot your name.
She stiffens. Just a little. Then—
Arrogant, she shoots back.
Correct, I say.
I feel her laugh—not out loud, but in the bond. It's a pulse of bright heat, a ripple through the thread that connects us. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop. If anything, she leans in closer, her breath brushing my throat now.
Gods, I want her.
But I won’t let her win. Not yet. So I dig deeper. Send her a thought so vivid, so crude, it makes her jerk against me in shock. Then I grin into the darkness.
That’s what I thought, I murmur silently.
I shift, barely, and she feels it. The press of my hips against her backside is deliberate—no apologies, no subtlety. Just enough for her to understand exactly what kind of hell she’s dragging me through.
This is your fault, I send through the bond, my thoughts rough around the edges, almost a growl.
And gods, the sound she makes in return—voiceless, caught in her throat, and fed through the thread that ties us together—is enough to punch the air from my lungs.
A moan, barely contained, and only for me.
I bite my bottom lip to stop the sound clawing up my own throat. Because it’s her. It’s always her. The way she fits against me like she was carved to be here. Like the universe spent millennia sculpting the curve of her spine just to match the shape of my palm.
Say it, I dare her silently. Admit you want more.
She doesn’t. Not with words. But her hips shift just slightly back into mine, that soft, infuriating roll that sends my thoughts scattering like ash in a windstorm.
I stifle a groan.
You trying to kill me, sweetheart?
Her response? A pulse of amusement, wicked and feminine, laced with heat so thick it coats the back of my throat. She’s smug. Smug and soft and smirking in the dark like she didn’t just wake the beast sleeping in my chest.
Fine. I wrap one arm low around her waist, dragging her tighter against me, and let her feel just how not-okay I am.
Now sleep, I whisper through the bond, because I know she won’t. She’ll stay awake just to torture me more. Or I’ll start describing exactly what I’d do to you if we weren’t surrounded by people.
And that’s not a bluff.
Not even close.
“Psst.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be deaf. He’ll stop. He has to stop. Right?
“Pssssst.”
He doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t. It’s Elias. The man has made it his life’s mission to crawl directly into my grave, whispering obscenities as he goes.
“What?”
I hiss, voice low and full of venom because I was comfortable. I had her. Warm, soft, pressed so tight against me I could map the curve of her spine in my dreams. Now I’ve got cold air licking across my chest and a very smug Elias blinking up at me from the floorboards like some cursed woodland creature.
He lifts his hand. Waggles his fingers. Shows me something between them.
It’s… glue?
“What the fuck is that?” I mouth.
“I’m stuck,”
he hisses dramatically, peeling his palm off the floor with a wet squelch that makes me gag.
“The floor’s a literal trap. I think I’ve become one with the wood.”
“You are wood,”
I snap back.
“Dead, dry, annoying.”
He holds up both hands in surrender.
“, I am asking—begging, as your best friend—to let me up before I lose my soul to the varnish.”
Luna shifts behind me, her breath a sleepy whisper across my bare back. She doesn’t stir, not really. But I feel her amusement flare down the bond like a warm slap to the back of my neck.
“She’s awake,”
I mutter, glancing over my shoulder.
Barely, her voice nudges into my head, syrupy with sleep and wicked with glee. But keep talking. This is getting good.
I groan and roll away, dragging the blanket with me. Elias takes that as his invitation—no shame, no hesitation, he flops onto the edge of the mattress like he owns it. Which he doesn’t. I do. I claimed it with my body heat and sheer force of will.
“You're disgusting,”
I whisper, glaring as he wiggles into the sliver of space.
“You smell like spilled ale and desperation.”
“Desperation is the cologne of men with regrets,”
he says, settling in like a smug bastard.
“You should bottle it.”
Luna snorts softly, her hand finding mine under the blanket without even looking.
And just like that, the chaos settles. For a minute, we breathe in the same rhythm.
Elias snorts beside me, mouth half-buried in the pillow he stole like it owed him a favor.
“We make a good Luna sandwich,”
he mutters through a yawn, voice heavy with sleep and sin.
I groan. Not because he’s wrong. But because he’s Elias. And now I’m cursed with the mental image of him as the top slice of bread in this deeply unholy metaphor.
“You’re the soggy crust in this situation,”
I mumble back.
Luna’s caught between us, curled like she belongs here—which she does, obviously—but she doesn’t open her eyes. Just shakes her head, that small, lazy smile flickering across her lips like she’s too tired to scold us and too amused not to enjoy it.
She shifts slightly, not away, never away—but enough for her leg to tangle with mine under the blanket, her bare foot brushing my calf like she’s claiming her space, like I’m the one invading. Which, to be fair, I probably did. I have a bad habit of stealing warmth and making it weird.
“I don’t know what’s worse,”
I say, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how soft she feels against me.
“the fact that he’s right or the fact that I’m now craving an actual sandwich.”
Elias hums, already drifting again.
“You're always craving something.”
Luna makes a soft sound—half sigh, half threat—and murmurs.
“If you two start talking about meat or buns, I swear to the gods…”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,”
I say, lips twitching, my voice too innocent to be trusted.
“I’m offended,”
Elias adds, sleep-muffled.
“I’m a gentleman.”
“Gentlemen don’t grope their best friends in the night.”
“That was your thigh.”
“That was not my thigh.”
Luna snorts, finally opening one eye to fix me with a look. It’s sleepy. Wicked. Adoring.
“You two are the worst. I should’ve made Orin share the bed.”
And just like that, I’m wounded.
“I gave you everything,”
I say dramatically, hand flying to my chest like I’ve taken a blade to the heart.
“My warmth. My body. My incredibly squishable middle section—”
“That’s what made it so appealing,”
she whispers, smile deepening.
I make a show of gasping. Elias laughs, low and hoarse, and somewhere in that laugh is a thread of something real—something fragile we pretend doesn’t exist when we’re being this way. Loud. Dumb. Ridiculously entangled.
The quiet that follows isn’t empty. It’s laced with unsaid things, with the knowledge that this bed, this room, this brief flicker of calm—it won’t last.
But right now, with Luna tucked between us, with Elias breathing slow and steady, I let it matter. I let it mean something.
And in the morning, when the world demands more than we can give, I’ll remember this.
The Luna sandwich.
And how for one night, it didn’t feel like the world was ending.