Chapter 9 #3
Not bothering with any other clothing, I slip into the small kitchen off the living space — and find Zaya and Rought full-on making out there.
My brother has moved the turkey bacon he’s frying off the stove but hasn’t turned off the gas.
Which is not only dangerous, but reminds me that the house still hasn’t been converted to renewable energy.
I have plans to extend a geothermal system all up the coastline but haven’t gotten to it yet.
I’m also not certain whether that’s my dominion anymore.
I got the resort and restaurant open even while Zaya was missing — with most of the last-minute details in motion before she was taken — because I felt obligated to see it through.
But I’m no longer an Outcast. I suspect my focus will need to be much more flexible now.
Now that I belong to Zaya again. Now that we have a different life, a different destiny to fulfill.
I flick off the burner, singe my fingers stealing a piece of turkey bacon from the pan, then shoulder my brother to the side so I can kiss Zaya good morning myself.
Rought laughs, leaning away just enough to give me access to our mate but keeping his hand on her hip.
Zaya angles her head to accept my kiss, smiling so brightly that it hurts my heart — in a good way, but also with a deep pang of all the loss that stretches between now and when we first lost her.
Feeling the need to be gentle, I deliberately soften the kiss, then feed her a bite of my purloined bacon.
She hums, pleased. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, mate.” I eat the rest of the bacon. “Needs to be crispier.”
“I’m still cooking it,” Rought says easily, practically radiating fucking joy as he puts the bacon over the heat again and starts whipping what appears to be at least a dozen eggs in a large metal bowl.
“Broil it in the oven,” I say, reaching up to press my hand to Zaya’s cheek as I hold her gaze for a moment more.
Rought huffs. “You want breakfast your way, then you shouldn’t have been lazing around in bed all morning.”
A quick glance at the clock on the stove confirms it’s just after 7:00 a.m. To-go coffee cups and what I assume is a bag of pastries sit on the table where Zaya cajoled me into fucking her, even though I’d carried her inside with far different intentions.
I understand that need now, the fierce need to anchor our connection as quickly as possible. We’re not teenagers. And given the shit with my fucking sperm donor, Zaya and I also don’t have the luxury of slowly building our bond.
Zaya slides her hand down my chest, instantly focusing my attention where it should be. “You owe me a story.”
“Food first,” I say, though I’m suddenly uneasy about sharing a story that no one else knows — as requested — in the light of day.
“I’m taking care of that,” Rought says.
Zaya slides between us — the kitchen is actually that tight — and seems to have no problem taking advantage of that, because she rubs her breasts against me while very obviously copping a feel of Rought’s ass behind her. He laughs, pouring the eggs into a hot pan.
I make a show of glowering at Zaya’s actions, which only serves to feed her obvious glee. Her smile is wide, eyes sparkling.
But seriously, I had forgotten what being perpetually half-hard around Zaya felt like, especially in sweatpants. I need some tight boxers. Or tighter pants, I think as I eye Rought’s jeans. My leathers would do, but I suspect I won’t be wearing them much anymore, at least when I’m not on my bike.
Zaya opens the bag of pastries, selecting a plain croissant and a pain au chocolat but ignoring the coffees. She still doesn’t drink it.
Both Rought and I watch her like we can’t bear to look away as she wanders to the back patio door, eating the pain au chocolat and leaving shards of pastry in her wake. The broken door has already been repaired, presumably thanks to Rought.
A hulking, green-furred beast is sprawled out on the patio beyond the doors. The cu-sith. No hint of Reck in his slitted red eyes or in the muted energy emanating from the beast.
I open my mouth to caution Zaya, a moment away from darting forward and pulling her back. Still scrambling the eggs, Rought kicks my shin hard enough to seriously hurt, though thankfully, he’s not wearing shoes.
I close my mouth, feeling a little lightheaded.
I watch as Zaya opens the patio door and feeds the fucking plain croissant to the fucking murderous creature beyond.
They stare at each other for a moment, then Zaya turns away, leaving the door wide open.
Not that a glass patio door is stopping the cu-sith from joining us at the breakfast table if he wants to.
Carrying the eggs and bacon, Rought crosses to the table. I grab three plates and some utensils and follow him.
Zaya slides into a chair with her back to the fucking beast at the door, as if he’s some tame creature.
The cu-sith stretches his legs through the open door and into the house, leaving the bulk of his body on the patio, then lays his head down — like he’s actually a fucking puppy.
His red-hued gaze remains riveted to Zaya.
I open my mouth again.
Rought elbows me in the ribs this time, covering the motion by grabbing the utensils. The blow is hard enough to make me lose my breath.
How is he not seeing what I’m seeing? Reck on his own is dangerous and unpredictable. The cu-sith unleashed — literally, because it’s obvious that Reck’s consciousness is seriously subsumed at the moment — is a mass murderer perpetually poised on the edge of utter chaos.
Zaya and Rought fill their plates. Rought shifts his chair so he can play footsie with her under the table.
Zaya grins at me saucily. “Good thing we didn’t break the table like we did the bed.”
Rought throws his head back and laughs. His essence shifts enough that I suddenly pick up on the slow continual transfer between him and Zaya … and between Zaya and me …
I sit down hard across from Zaya. The wooden chair creaks under my weight but holds. I grab one of the coffees, throwing it back and lightly singeing my tongue.
Zaya doesn’t need to worry about the cu-sith. Even without their bond — or, more accurately, even with their bond severed — she’s the most powerful fucking person in the world.
Except, even though I have a sense that neither Rought nor I could ever actually harm her, Reck isn’t tied to her anymore. Not at all.
“No threads between us,” I murmur, taking a smaller sip of the coffee. It’s a dark roast, slightly smoky, and black, just like I prefer it.
“There are lots of threads between us,” Zaya says, almost gently. “By choice … yes?”
I don’t like the tentativeness in that yes. I don’t like the idea that anything in my behavior has caused it. A moment later, I’m on my feet, around the table, pulling Zaya into my arms, then settling her on my lap in her chair and not giving a fuck that my back is to the cu-sith.
She wraps her hand around the back of my neck — only a gentle echo of how she held me when we were younger, because her energy is almost completely different now. Then, before I can figure out how to counter that tentativeness, she feeds me a piece of her turkey bacon. Just as I fed her.
I suck lightly on her fingertips. Then I say, “I ran away.”
Rought snorts, leaning back in his chair with both hands behind his head. “You went to school. Zaya doesn’t need some self-deprecating, self-flagellating version of whatever you need to tell her.”
“If you want to stick around,” I growl at my brother, “you’ll shut the fuck up.”
Grinning, Rought raises his hands in surrender, then grabs the bag of pastries.
“Oh!” Zaya cries, thrusting out a hand.
But Rought is already pulling a second pain au chocolat out of the bag, dropping it into her outstretched palm.
“You need more protein,” I say. Apparently, Rought isn’t primed this time to curtail my idiocy before it can tumble out of my mouth.
Obviously, I get that Zaya is a full-grown woman. I get that she’s survived all these years without me monitoring her food intake. But she is still way too fucking skinny. Too exhausted and overwhelmed.
Of course, I also could have let her sleep last night …
She narrows her eyes at me, then takes a deliberate bite of the pastry, right in the center so she gets as much of the chocolate as possible.
“Here,” she says around the mouthful. “You can have the boring bits.” She tears the side of the pastry, sans chocolate, showering us both in flakey crumbs, then stuffs it into my mouth.
Chewing, I grin at her. “You think that’s a punishment, Tempest?”
She huffs. Then she says promptingly, “You ran away.” She glances over at Rought, adding pointedly, “To school.”
He takes a swig of his coffee, then winks at her.
Even with my brother here, this back-and-forth is an echo of our conversation from the previous night — my mind fixating and Zaya keeping me on track. And I … like it.
“After you … left us …” I settle back in the chair, adjusting Zaya on my lap so she can eat from her plate but hopefully still be comfortable. “I stuck around to make sure …” I glance at Rought.
“I’ve already told my truths, brother,” he says.
I nod. Then I push past the concern we all shared that we were going to lose Rought as well. The suspicion, never confirmed for my own sanity, that we almost did lose Rought.
“I got my undergraduate degree mostly online, but I went to the New York Phrontistery for my first master’s degree, then to the Shanghai campus for my second.
Picking up languages and secondary degrees along the way.
I could have opted for a doctorate, but I wasn’t really interested in publishing, and that wasn’t the point of it all anyway.
” I take a breath, my gaze flicking to my brother again.