Selene’s POV
Bowen does not do dramatics.
This is the thing about him. He does not build to things unnecessarily or draw out a pause for effect the way some older men do when they have an audience. When he says we have a problem he means it plainly, and the fact that he came to the kitchen before six in the morning with Mara at his shoulder means whatever it is did not wait for a decent hour to become urgent.
I set my cold mug on the counter.
“Sit down,” I say, because someone has to manage this room and Lucian is still standing in the middle of it looking like a man who has just said more than he intended to and has not yet recovered his footing. “Both of you.”
Mara sits immediately. Bowen pulls out a chair with that slow deliberate care and lowers himself into it and folds his hands
