The Goblin in the Sink Drain (Groom & Doom #2)

Chapter 1

one

Faint snoring tugged me out of a hazy dream with jagged edges that cut when I thought about them too hard.

I drifted for a moment, clinging to the hope I could slip under again, try to remember more details.

I almost had it until a sharp elbow smashed into my windpipe, jolting me upright in bed with a loud gasp.

Hand to my throat, I erupted into a coughing fit and rolled left to escape my attacker only to hit the floor. The oxygen I just finished gulping down whooshed out of me, my hip bleating where it struck hardwood, and I gave up on life. Curled into the fetal position, I waited for the end to come.

The end, when it came, was much shorter than I expected, but it brought breakfast with it.

“Ana?” A girl of around eight or nine stood in the doorway to the guest bedroom I crashed in last night.

She wore a white button-down shirt and crisp black slacks with gleaming patent leather Mary Janes.

Hair braided snug to her scalp, she reminded me of a miniature waitress down to the gleaming silver tray she balanced on one thin shoulder.

And if the reek of fresh spray paint from the aforementioned tray overpowered the aromas of steaming coffee and piping-hot baked goods, I was too charmed to mention it. “What are you doing down there?”

“A ninja attacked me in my sleep,” I croaked, pointing to a lump under the covers.

With a firm nod, she set the tray on a low dresser then summoned a flame into her palm. “I’ll handle it.”

“Wait.” I leapt to my feet with a wobble. “I was kidding.” I launched myself between her and the snoring mass, sailing through the air to land on the bed with a thump. “It’s Sloane.”

“Yeah, I know.” A snort blasted out of her adorable button nose. “I’m a kid, not an idiot.”

“But the fire…?” I indicated the orange and red burst on her palm. “And you said…”

From the tray, she chose a metal skewer and threaded it with marshmallows the size of her fist that she then toasted over the open flame until the sugary treats burnt black before blowing them out.

Ignoring the bitter smoke curling the air, she slid the gooey lumps into a mug with a milkier appearance than the others.

“Fire?” The cover erupted in a cotton geyser, blasting upright in undulating waves, revealing a ghostlike figure in the center of the mattress that thrashed and moaned, trapped in its mortal coil. Or, you know, a sheet. “Where?”

“See?” Goldie grinned as Sloane battled her way free. “Told you I’d handle it.”

“There’s no fire.” I hooked my arm behind me and grabbed her ankle before she stomped on me.

The second I touched her, she kicked out, striking my spine and tumbling me off the foot of the bed.

I landed on my other hip and decided I’d had the right idea the first time.

I curled into a ball and waited to die. “Oww.”

“Ana?” Sloane’s head popped over the footboard. “What are you doing down there?”

That was the question du jour, so I paired it with an answer of similar vintage. “I was attacked by a ninja.”

“Oh no.” She mashed her face into the comforter, muffling her voice. “I’m so sorry.”

“You warned me.” I reached up and patted her head. “I chose to take my life in my own hands.”

Sloane, who was fully bonded to the Sartori pack, was experiencing mild withdrawal symptoms. Magical interference from the barrier caging us in Brentwood had cut her off from the others, but she was doing okay.

Better than expected, really. But last night was hard, especially after she fought Mercer to prevent me from being smuggled back to Dad through the tunnel he ordered dug under my freaking house in the most jaw-dropping breach of trust imaginable.

Except, if the Walsh clan was telling me the truth, that betrayal only scratched the surface when it came to the lies my dad, who might not really be my father, had spoon-fed me my entire life.

Anyway. Not thinking about that yet. I had more immediate priorities.

Namely the still vaguely ghostlike moaning pouring out of Sloane as she kicked her feet in misery.

To give her the comfort of pack, I had offered to let her sleep with me.

Had I known she practiced ninjutsu in her sleep, I might have made different life choices.

“Marigold Samantha Walsh,” a deep voice boomed down the hall. “Why do I smell smoke?”

“Um. I think I hear Gran calling me.” Goldie flung open the window above my head and escaped into the front yard, the move too practiced for a first attempt. The kid was clearly a pro. Hands on the sash, she ducked back in to say with a wink, “Remember to tip your server.”

Unable to help myself, I grinned up at the troublemaker before she disappeared from view.

“Uh-oh.” Sloane lifted her head. “Your man is wearing his stomping shoes.”

“Not my man, and what are stomping shoes?”

Pretty sure Rían’s weight and height were to blame for the approaching stampede, not his footwear.

“I hope I’m not intruding, but the door was open…” A large shadow fell across me seconds later. “Ana?”

“Goldie toasted marshmallows for hot cocoa.” I rolled onto my back. “That’s what you’re smelling.”

“Thank God.” Relief bowed his shoulders, leaving me no doubt she wasn’t meant to use her fire without an adult present. An adult dragon. A breeze rustled his hair, and he cast a sigh at the open window. “She bolted, huh?” He shook his head. “Probably ran straight to Fayne.”

The morning sun highlighted old scars sprinkling his rugged face.

His chiseled jaw appeared leaner from this angle.

Harder. A dark ridge of skin I had thought was a scab pulled his cheek down.

His lips, the bottom uneven thanks to a faded injury, twitched in the promise of a smile, as if he couldn’t help his fondness warring with frustration when it came to Goldie.

His eyes, still wholly a brilliant white, did contain delineated pupils and irises, so faint it was easy to miss them. As I was admiring his profile, he cut his gaze to me, and I found somewhere else to look.

“I notice you’re the only one who calls her that.” I cleared my throat. “Fayne, I mean.”

“She was Gran until I ascended to magnus.” He crouched next to my shoulder. “I still slip up sometimes.”

“I’m going to shower,” Sloane announced loudly, climbing out of bed. “See you guys in a few.”

About as subtle as a brick to the face, but I couldn’t fault her for not knowing how to act around Rían when I had no idea what to do with him myself. “What’s a nice girl like you doing on a floor like this?”

Doh.

Everyone had asked me what I was doing on the floor. I had been trying to beat him to the punch, but the third time was definitely not the charm. So much for being clever. I was a tongue-tied mess under his amused gaze.

“I’m not a girl.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m willing to show you my—”

Slamming the heels of my palms into my eyes, I yelped, “No thanks.”

“—birth certificate.”

“Oh.” Heat tingled in my cheeks as I lowered my hands. “Um.”

With a chuckle, he sat and looped his arms around his knees. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Birth certificate,” I blurted, cheeks hot enough to fry eggs on.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Sloane kicked me out of bed,” I rambled, pushing into a seated position.

“Literally. With her foot. That’s why I’m on the floor.

This time.” His eyebrows twitched higher, but at least I hadn’t gender swapped anyone else.

“She clotheslined me with her elbow, and I was just waking up, and I forgot where I was, and I rolled off the mattress on accident. The first time.”

Kill me now. Please. God? Are you there? Can you hear me?

“I see.” Those peculiar white eyes of his twinkled at me. “You’ve had an interesting morning.”

“I’m not usually so clumsy,” I mumbled, angling my face away from him.

“You slept in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange house, with a stranger down the hall.”

The reminder Sloane and I had taken him up on his offer of hospitality at his house left me fidgety.

“I wasn’t grateful last night, but I do appreciate you giving Sloane and me somewhere to stay.”

With Brentwood on lockdown, and the Walsh clan mid-relocation, pickings were sure to be slim when it came to available lodgings. By offering up his guest room for our use, our temporary use, I assured him, he made a night of horrible revelations a smidge less terrible.

“It’s nice. Taking care of you. I’ve waited a long time for the chance.” He tapped my hand when visible tension knotted my shoulders. “Hey, Ana, just because I’ve wanted this doesn’t make how I feel your problem. Remember that. No expectations, okay?”

Expectations? I never had any. It was safer that way.

No one had ever wanted me except as a bargaining chip for Dad’s favor.

Even then, they always decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

They told themselves they could suck it up, refusing to accept how important a partner who could run with them, play with them, hunt with them, on four legs was to their happiness.

I had been hurt too many times to believe the Prince Charming act, but Rían put on a good show.

“So…” I squished a dust bunny under my thumb. “You’re serious about the betrothal thing.”

The way I sought his assurance was pathetic. I was embarrassing myself. Again.

“I am.” He grunted as he stood. “But you don’t have to be.”

The desire to reach out and grip his pant leg, to hold him here, with me, made me squirm.

Never had I been one for casual touch, but I couldn’t squash the urge to offer—or take—comfort from members of this clan. But if he shook me off him, I wasn’t sure I could handle it. So I kept my hands to myself.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he rumbled from above me. “Please don’t scan this, Ana.”

“Scan what?” I jerked my head up to find him standing at the breakfast tray. “What am I missing?”

Scrubbing his face with a wide palm, he swept a hand over the options. “Coffee, tea, or cocoa?”

“Oh.” Curious about dragon-toasted marshmallows, I chose the sweetest option. “Cocoa works for me.”