Two
CJ
There’s an awful creaking sound grating at my brain. I feel like I’m hungover.
I sit up on my elbows as much as my air mattress will allow and realize Baz is in my room with a hammer, prying off the boards he installed just the other day.
I rub the sleep from my eyes. Jesus, I slept like the dead. Which is a weird thing to think when you’re in a house full of undead men.
Excuse me, evolved men.
“What are you doing?” I ask Baz, stretching.
“I need to get these windows in. The house needs to be ready for the ball. I can’t wait all day while you sleep.”
I pick up my phone and glance at the time. It’s a little after eleven. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. I was exhausted.”
“Humans and their sleep.” Baz’s voice is thick with disdain.
“Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
“Andre,” he answers.
Immediately, my hands flutter to my neck. The bites from Andre are almost completely healed. Just one bite—the last one on the right, the bite—still has some soreness to it and two tiny little pinholes left. The rest are completely gone.
Baz rips another board off and it crashes to the floor. “You should probably go eat something. You look pale.”
“Are you… mad at me?”
“Nope,” he answers curtly and pulls another board off.
“Because it feels like you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not.” Another board crashes down, freeing the far window entirely. Sunlight sparkles into the room, highlighting Baz’s beautiful arm muscles and impressive frown.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Need I remind you that this whole ridiculous setup wasn’t my idea? It was yours. I’m supposed to feed the three of you. If you have a problem sharing me, well, that’s on you and your arrangement.”
He moves to the second window and rips another board off the opening, this one with his bare hands. “I don’t mind sharing you, Duchess, but I wasn't involved. There was no sharing. And you said you wanted me. I heard you.”
Oh, how fucking dare he.
“I can’t be held responsible for the information you pull from my head without permission.
There are lots of times I think things that I choose not to say out loud.
It’s called having a filter, you jerk. Something you obviously lack.
And technically, I said I wanted no one.
Andre came and apologized. I don’t remember getting an apology from you. Besides, Wes said one at a time.”
“Wes is acclimating you. It’s a waste of time.”
“You don’t think I need to be acclimated?”
“I think you need a crash course and a real bed.”
“Excuse me? What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you what you need. Wes is great for a lot of reasons. You want something sugar-coated—he’s your guy. But if you want honesty—I’m right here.”
Another board claps against the floor.
I swallow hard. My head still feels fuzzy, and I’m not sure I can mastermind a fight with someone who can read my thoughts right now or if I even want to. Right now, I just want this to be easy.
“He described you as an eye-for-an-eye guy.”
“That, too, I guess. He knows me well.”
“But I don’t know you at all, so if you want something, you’re going to have to tell me instead of pouting and brooding about it. Unlike you, I can’t read minds.”
His hands stop pulling. “Did you just accuse me of brooding?”
“Oh, you brood.”
He turns to me, his ripped body—dear God, those stomach muscles—weakening my will to fight.
Who told these men it was okay for them to walk around in jeans or sweatpants and no shirt?
Being in a constant state of fight, flight, or arousal might just kill me.
He stares at me for a moment, and dimples form in his cheeks.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was almost smiling.
“That’s fair. I do brood,” he says, his voice calmer and much more approachable. “For clarity's sake, I would very much like to taste you. I would like to be next.”
“Um… okay.” I back up on my air mattress a little and run my hands through my hair. “Just let me freshen up a bit…”
“I want to taste you, Duchess, not kill you. Even I can tell by your coloring that Andre took a lot.”I hop out of bed and walk up to the mirror. The bites may be healed, but sure enough, my complexion is shockingly pale.
“Besides.” He turns back to his window. “I already had something to eat last night. I’m good for a little while.”
“From who?” The jealousy in my voice surprises even me. Do I actually care? I have no idea. It’s too early to process all this.
“Just a girl at a bar. No one important. Wes is making breakfast downstairs. Enough for an army. I’m sure you’ll find something you like. May I suggest something with iron and protein? I tend to like long, feeding sessions that involve a little… roughhousing.”
“I might need you to be gentle.”
“I said I was honest, Duchess. I didn’t say anything about gentle.”