Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
THE DAY HAD SUCH HIGH HOPES
Steam curls thick against the glass as I brace my hands against the edge of the marble sink.
The mirror is fogged beyond recognition, its surface completely obscured by condensation that drips in lazy rivulets down the glass.
The world has been reduced to soft shapes and blurred light, and for a moment, I let myself exist inside that quiet sanctuary, where nothing feels quite real and everything feels possible.
It has been a few days since the storm.
A few days since everything was blanketed in mounds of white, and somehow, everything has settled back into place in a way that feels almost too easy.
It’s as if the wards were never disrupted, as if the magical upheaval that tore through Ruby Springs was nothing more than a particularly brilliant mirage we’ve all decided to pretend never happened.
We’ve returned to normal but it feels fragile, like spun glass that might shatter if I examine it too closely.
I drag a hand down my face, water beads along my skin before dripping steadily into the porcelain sink below.
“We’re running out of time,” I murmur to my reflection, even though I can’t see it through the fog.
The words hang heavy in the humid air, weighted with all the things I haven’t said, all the decisions I keep pushing to tomorrow, about the wards, the missing pages, and Founder’s Day closing in whether I’m ready or not.
Adjusting my shower cap more securely over my braids, I train my ears for any movement beyond the bathroom door, listening for signs of life from the three men who have somehow become the center of my universe.
From the bedroom beyond, the house is quiet.
They are still asleep, all three of them tangled together in the massive bed that somehow accommodates us all.
I smile because although everything else feels like it’s going up in smoke, the shop, locating the spell cast on me, the mounting pressure to call my magic forth, my relationship with Lucien, Maceo, and Ezra is as easy as breathing.
It’s only been a few days of our newness, this strange and wonderful arrangement we’ve fallen into, and yet it feels as if I’ve always had them in my life, as if they were always meant to be there.
The thought of them soothes the growing anxiety that’s been building in my chest like a living thing, warm and comforting in a way I am still getting used to.
The bed had felt too large when I first arrived here, too much space for one person rattling around in a house meant for a family.
Now it feels exactly right. It’s as if the bed had always been waiting for this particular configuration, for them, for us.
I shake the thought off before it can root too deeply.
The last thing I need is to start believing the house is clairvoyant on top of everything else magical happening in my life.
I step beneath the spray, letting the hot water cascade over me in sheets.
My eyes close as I tilt my face upward, letting the heat sink into my skin, into my muscles, into the tension I haven’t quite been able to shake since the snowstorm passed.
For a moment, it is just me and the water and the blessed quiet.
I allow myself to get lost in the steam, in the simple pleasure of being clean and warm and safe.
My mind won’t stay quiet for long unfortunately.
It cycles through a long list of things I need to achieve and accomplish in the next few days, decisions about Thorne Curiosities, conversations with buyers, phone calls about my life in New York I keep putting off, loose ends I haven’t been ready to tie up.
The door opens behind me with a soft click, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I don’t startle, don’t even tense. I’m not surprised.
It was only a matter of time before one of them found me, drawn by some invisible thread or simply by the absence of my warmth in the bed.
You would think it would be the Fae who woke with the dawn, attuned to natural rhythms, but no one cherished their sleep more than Lucien.
He could probably sleep through a hurricane if given the chance.
Maceo was equally committed to his rest, grumpy as a bear if roused too early.
“Hey Ez,” I say as he steps in behind me, the heat of his lean body cuts through the steam and his hands settle at my waist with familiar certainty.
“You’re up early,” I continue, glancing over my shoulder at him, one brow lifting slightly in gentle teasing. “After the long night of research we had, I thought you’d be the last one out of bed for once.”
There is the faintest hint of amusement in his expression, something softer and more relaxed than the careful, calculated version of him I met when I first arrived in this town. The change in him over these past days has been remarkable, like watching someone step out of shadows into sunlight.
“I usually am the first,” he replies, his voice low and roughened by sleep. His thumbs brush lightly against my sides, tracing patterns on wet skin. “Old habits die hard. I’ve been an early riser since I was a kid.”
I huff quietly, a sound of mock exasperation. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m an early riser as well, always have been. Although, you definitely have me beat in the dedication department.”
“Well. . .” he says, a hint of playfulness creeping into his tone as he nuzzles into the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my ear. “You do snore, just a bit.” The words vibrate against my skin as he plants a soft kiss on my pulse point, right where my heartbeat flutters.
“I do not,” I protest, though I’m already inclining my neck to give him easier access, my body responds to his touch with embarrassing eagerness. “I feel like I should be deeply offended by that accusation.”
His mouth curves just slightly, the barest hint of a smile, and the sight fills me with pure elation. Ezra doesn’t smile very often, but when he does, it feels like a gift, like something precious given freely.
“Don’t be,” he says simply, his voice carrying a warmth that makes my chest tight. “It’s cute. Like everything else about you.”
I take him in a moment longer than necessary, taking in the shift in him, the way the careful distance he once maintained has softened into something quieter, something infinitely closer.
The barriers are still there, they probably always will be with Ezra, but they’re permeable now, allowing intimacy to seep through.
“Is Maceo still cuddling Lucien like a giant teddy bear?” I ask, deliberately lightening the mood even further as Ezra’s hands begin to roam over every dip and curve of my body with methodical thoroughness.
He reaches for the soap from the built-in alcove in the shower wall and washes me with careful attention.
His hands slide a fraction higher, over my breasts and shoulders, the loofah scrubbing my skin in firm, hypnotic strokes.
The rhythm is almost meditative, and I find myself relaxing into his touch completely.
The gentleness of his hands, the way he touches me like I’m something sacred, almost has me missing his next words entirely.
A deep, unmistakably masculine moan erupts from the bedroom, muffled by the closed door but clearly audible. Ezra’s eyes flick briefly toward the sound before returning to mine, a knowing look passing between us.
“They’re doing just fine without me,” he says with a smirk that transforms his entire face, making him look younger, more carefree.
“And without me,” I add, wishing desperately that I had a front-row seat to whatever passionate choreography was happening between my other two men.
My other two men. The phrase still sends a thrill through me every time I think it.
The reality of this arrangement, this perfect storm of connection and desire, never gets old.
His gaze drops, tracking the line of water as it traces along my collarbone, and the air between us shifts, subtle but unmistakable. The steam seems to thicken, charged with possibility.
“Yes,” he says quietly, his voice dropping to something deeper, more intimate. “They will be just fine.”
My breath catches just slightly as his fingers trace along my ribs with deliberate slowness, the touch both soothing and electric, distracting me from the obvious sounds of pleasure drifting from the bedroom.
“Keisha,” he murmurs, placing the loofah carefully on the shelf behind me.
The way he says my name, like a prayer and a promise combined, sends chills racing down my spine despite the heat of the water.
In only a few days, it’s become almost a Pavlovian response, the sound of my name on his lips making my clit pulse with anticipation.
I step into him without conscious thought, closing the distance between us until there’s nothing but heated skin and steam. My hands brace against the solid warmth of his chest as his fingers curl possessively at the back of my neck.
When he kisses me, I let go completely. Our tongues tangle and dance, and it’s like an instant caffeine high rushing through my system. I’m alert and ready for anything, every nerve ending sings with awareness.
Breaking the kiss with reluctant necessity, Ezra drops to his knees in front of me.
“Let’s give them a show,” he says, his voice rough with desire as he looks up at me through long black lashes. “Let them hear you moan for me, Marvel.” He leans forward and licks a deliberate path up my inner thigh, his tongue hot against my sensitive skin.