57. Chapter Fifty-Seven
Tonight is our first family dinner since, well, the last family dinner where Trinte and I argued about the damn chair.
We’re both a little nervous, mainly because it could be the final dinner.
In two days, Trinte is doing the Cairanin.
No matter how much he reassures me, I’m terrified for him.
We just found one another; I don’t know what I’ll do if his dunghole father survives.
I mean, I know what I’ll do — murder the Gleanscale patriarch.
But I hope it doesn’t come down to that.
Trinte holds my hand as we walk to Fynn’s door. We exchange nervous glances; I squeeze his hand in encouragement. When he opens the door, we’re met with the sound of laughter and soothing music.
“Hello?” he calls out as I close the door behind us.
“Mr. Trinte!” Joulian comes bounding out of the kitchen, flinging himself into the blue Dragon’s arms. Knowing how much Trinte has wanted a family, I watch his delighted expression with new appreciation.
“What am I, chopped liver?” I joke.
Joulian, already a few inches taller than me now, hugs me tight. “Aunt Kyri, Mom said you got hurt a few weeks ago?”
I flick my wings. “Good as new now. No need to worry.”
Teenage eyes assess me, then he grins. “Are you going to ask for a rematch?”
“You bet!” I laugh, flexing my biceps. I point at Trinte and whisper yell, “I should also challenge that one to a rematch, too. I almost whooped his ass.”
“You do understand I had to pull my punches, so I didn’t crush your skull, right?” Trinte drawls.
I stare at him. “What?”
Joulian looks between the two of us, enthralled. I walk around my nephew to stand toe to toe with the blue Dragon. “You did what?”
He peers down at me with an amused expression. “Kyrielle, I can shatter skulls with one punch. Ask Coach. I was simply trying not to kill you.”
“Y-you … you took it easy on me?” I shriek, absolutely furious.
Trinte curls a lip, looking at me like I’m stupid. “I electrocuted the fuck out of you at full throttle. I wouldn’t say I took it easy on you.”
“You just said a bad word,” Joulian crows, hopping into the kitchen. “Mom! Mr. Trinte said a bad word!”
Trinte and I glare at one another. I cross my arms, like a petulant child. His expression softens, and I do the same when he rubs a thumb over my cheek. “I wasn’t going to chance killing you, Kyrielle.”
“Are you two already arguing?” Orliana calls out.
My anger melts away. Trinte isn’t wrong; I’m just irritated. “We’ll still talk about this later.”
Trinte tips my chin up, gives me a soft, reverent kiss. “I hope it’s when we’re naked.”
“We can hear you,” Fynn yells.
“Completely naked,” I whisper back.
“Still can hear you!” Fynn repeats. “Please respect my excellent hearing in my own home, you two.”
Trinte’s eyes light up. Shooting a devilish grin at the disembodied voice, he murmurs, “I think tonight I’m going to make you submit and open that pretty mouth to—”
“TRINTE!” Fynn roars. Orliana gasps, and we can hear Fynn apologizing quietly.
We share a grin, and he slings an arm over my shoulders. “Come on, Firefly, let’s go annoy my brother some more.”
We step into the kitchen and Fynn’s glaring at his brother like they’re about to fight. Talia is already sitting at the table, drinking a glass of femire, quite bemused.
Orliana is glowering, hands on her hips. “Can’t the two of you just be … normal?”
“No,” Trinte and I say at the same time.
“Fortuna save us, there’s two of them,” Fynn mutters, turning back to the stove.
Trinte stalks toward the alcohol cart and grabs a bottle of Minga. He uncaps it, and Talia clears her throat. They exchange a look; he purses his lips, grabbing a glass. I grin and, just to fuck with him, I shuck off my jacket as I sit in his chair.
He’s mid-stride to ‘his’ spot, and freezes. I offer a saccharine smile while I dramatically nestle back into the chair. “Mmm, such a nice chair, don’t you think?”
Talia almost spits out her femire. Fynn sighs heavily, and Orliana continues to glare.
Practically growling, Trinte stalks over to the chair he sat in last time. “Remember this moment, Firefly. Remember it.”
“Why does she need to remember it?” Joulian asks, curious.
“Say one more word and I’ll filet you with this,” Orliana says, holding up a knife.
Pouting at my partner, I glare at his Minga. “What? No drink for me?”
Raising an eyebrow, he carefully places the Minga and glass on the table, then marches back to the fridge. When he returns, it’s with a bottle of Heimlock.
He slams it on the table hard, ensuring I can’t open it for at least a couple of minutes, unless I want to coat Fynn’s kitchen with beer.
Batting his eyelashes, he says, “Here’s a nice beer for such a nice chair, sweetie pie.”
We glare at one another; his mouth twitches. Then we burst into laughter. He sits down, pours the Minga, and pushes over the glass for me. “Try it. Some of the best.”
The kitchen is quiet; we look up to see everyone watching us like we’ve grown eleven hydra heads.
As I take a sip of the drink, Trinte says, “What?”
***
The remainder of dinner goes off without a hitch. Everyone settles into their chairs — Trinte lets me keep “his” without additional fuss — and we all catch up. Fynn and Orliana seem to be doing well. What she doesn’t know is that in a couple of weeks, he’s proposing.
I’ve been a little concerned that it’s too soon; that they’re moving too fast. But they’re so damn happy. He dotes on her; she looks at him like he discovered the secret to baking bread. After the life she’s had, Orliana deserves to be this happy. To have a family that loves her. To feel safe.
Besides — love never moves at a logical pace.
When the meal’s finished and Trinte clears away the plates, the conversation steers toward the Cairanin. I hate talking about it. I hate to think about it. When the topic gets too serious, Orliana sends Joulian to bed.
Fynn and Trinte discuss strategy, using Dragon terms I don’t understand. Each minute passing pricks at my already-terrified heart. They’re talking about how to fly with injuries and how best to injure their father.
Probably sensing my growing distress, Talia taps me on the hand. “Let’s go outside for some fresh air?”
Trinte continues talking, but his eyes track me as I follow Talia and Orliana out of the kitchen.
When I’m outside, it feels like I can finally breathe. Inhaling the scent of peonies, I turn to the two most important women in my life. “This is crazy, right? It’s not just me? This is insane?”
Orliana grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, but …” She grimaces, and I home in on the expression.
“But what?”
Orliana and Talia exchange a look before the former speaks. “It’s necessary. Trinte needs to do this. I’ve seen what’s inside him, and I think this could truly help him.”
“I’ve seen what’s inside him.”
Well, those words came out a touch too defensively.
Why I’m feeling this way, I’m not sure. Maybe because I’m jealous that she can experience his emotions in a way I can’t.
But also, I hate the idea of him being remotely the same since I started helping him.
“Can you honestly tell me you haven’t seen any change in him these past weeks? ”
They’re both quiet. Finally, Talia says, “His aura has shifted significantly; I’ll agree on that. I haven’t peeked at anything else, but he’s definitely doing better.”
“I also agree,” Orliana says quietly. “But he still needs it.”
“I know,” I say glumly, staring at the grass. “I’m just terrified for him.”
“Fynn’s confident,” Orliana shares, squeezing my hand. “He said they used to practice this for years. For fun, because they’re crazy.”
Tears burn my eyes. “But if something happens—”
“It won’t,” Talia says fiercely, grabbing my other hand. “Trinte is smarter, stronger, and younger. He has more to lose, with everything to gain.”
“That’s what he said, but I can’t help but be terrified, anyway.” I cry in earnest. The tears turn into a group hug, as we’ve done so many times.
The front door swings open. Trinte steps out, face contorted with terror. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Fynn’s hovering right over his shoulder, scanning Orliana. Why do they look terrified?
I choke out a laugh through a sob. “I’m just sad that you’re such an idiot sometimes.”
He exhales, smiling. “That’s all? Baby girl, you have to get used to that.”
“He’s not kidding,” Fynn grumbles, grunting when his brother elbows him in the gut.
The hug breaks apart; Talia brushes a hand over my cheek. “We’ll be there. All of us will be.”
Trinte wraps me in a hug. “It’ll be okay, Firefly.”
I rub my tears into his shirt. “You better haunt me if you die.”
“I swear it,” he says with amusement.
Shortly after, we say our goodbyes. The flight home is short and quiet. In less than forty-eight hours, our lives will change forever. One way or another. The fear is sinking into my bones, making me feel brittle.
Once we’re finally in the apartment, Trinte immediately grabs me a bottle of water. “Drink this.”
“I’m not thirsty, though,” I say, eyeing it.
I’m startled as he walks into me so fast, I’m forced to slam against the door. Crowding my senses, he says, “You’re going to need to be hydrated because you’ve asked all five questions and I’m collecting on my half of the bet.”
I swallow hard, knowing exactly what that means. I take a sip. “Is this because of the chair?”
“Yes, but also because I really want to fuck your throat, Firefly.” Excitement flutters in my belly. I’m about to pull my shirt off when he stops me with a hand. “Wait. We need to discuss boundaries.”
“Boundaries?”
He dips his chin. “The safe word is pickles, but what are you not comfortable doing?”
I think about the question. Ticking my answers off my fingers, I say, “I’m not into blood, scat, pee, weapons, or multiple things in my pussy at once.”
His smile turns deliciously feral. “That’s all?”
That look has me pausing, wondering if I’ve forgotten anything. “Um, I think so?”