chapter Six
1325 Words
Eira 'S POV
I sleep dreamlessly, the kind of sleep that drops you straight into darkness and lets you sink there without resistance. When I wake, it’s with that loose, boneless warmth that comes after something intense and deeply satisfying. My body feels used in the best way heavy, relaxed, humming faintly with pleasure.
Fucked out and glorious.
Which is impressive, considering nobody actually f****d me last night.
Next time, I think, stretching beneath the sheets.
I was promised the next time.
The thought sends a quiet thrill through me, followed almost immediately by a sharp spike of fear. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling of my studio apartment, my heart kicking into a faster rhythm as I take inventory.
The bed is warm, but empty except for me.
For a split second, panic claws up my throat. The men are gone. They took whatever they wanted and slipped out in the middle of the night, leaving me alone with the echo of their bodies and the mess of emotions I shouldn’t be having.
That would be good, I tell myself fiercely. That would be smart.
You cannot stay with them.
The reminder comes fast and hard. If they knew what I was what I really was it wouldn’t matter how gentle they’d been last night, how careful, how intoxicatingly warm their attention felt. Shifters don’t drink fae blood the way Cassian did, but that doesn’t make them safer.
They’d just kill me.
Clean. Final. No remorse.
I push myself upright, the sheet sliding down my body, when I hear voices.
Male voices.
Arguing.
Relief floods me so hard my knees go weak.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and turn my head toward the kitchenette. All three of them are there, crowding the tiny space like it was designed for giants, not a single person living quietly under the radar. They’re huddled around my refrigerator, heads bent together, clearly in the middle of a debate.
“We can’t take it,” Soren says, his tone firm.
“Sure we can,” Draven counters. “We’ll get her another one if she minds.”
“We can wait for her to wake up and ask her,” Art adds, arms crossed, voice practical.
I snort softly and stand, wrapping the bedsheet around myself like a toga. “Can I help you?”
All three of them spin around like teenagers caught sneaking snacks.
“I wasn’t really going to take it,” Draven says quickly.
“Take what, though?” I ask, arching a brow. “Because you definitely were.”
“The ham,” Art says, nodding toward the fridge.
“You can have the ham,” I say easily. “Heat it up first and cut me a slice.”
“For real?” Soren asks, clearly suspicious.
“What am I going to do with a whole ham?” I shrug. “It’s not like it’s going to eat itself.”
“Well,” Soren says slowly, “what were you doing with it?”
“I bought it on sale earlier this week,” I explained. “It was cheap enough that I couldn’t resist. Sometimes I forget that I live alone and that things like this are absolutely going to go bad before I can finish them.”
“You bought it at the store?” Art asks. “The human store?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “The human store. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I figured you’d…hunt. If I had a fridge, that’s what I’d do.”
I bite back a smile. “Right.”
I forget sometimes how strange my life must look to them. Of course I don’t hunt not as a wolf, anyway. No one ever taught me how. When I lived with the host, survival meant deception, not teeth and claws. I learned to stalk people, not prey. Tracking and evasion came naturally. But hunting as an animal? That’s something else entirely.
“How do you afford this place?” Art asks, glancing around. “I mean, apartments cost money. Regularly. Where does it come from? Do you have a human job?”
“I did,” I say. “For a while.”
“What did you do?” Soren asks. He’s slicing the ham now, eyeing the microwave like it’s a hostile creature. I step in, take over, and load the plate before popping it inside.
“I swept floors at a restaurant,” I say. “Washed dishes after closing. Stuff like that.”
Jobs that keep you invisible. Jobs where no one asks questions. No one looks twice at the dishwasher who comes in late and leaves quietly.
“But not anymore?” Draven asks.
“It was time to move on.”
The microwave beeps. I pull the plate out and set it on the small table. Draven immediately reaches for a slice, and I grab his wrist.
“Hey. Wait for it to cool down or you’ll burn yourself.”
“No, I won’t,” he says cheerfully, popping it into his mouth anyway.
“Draven’s…resilient,” Soren says dryly. “Dragon privilege.”
I nod slowly. I know that. I’ve tasted dragon blood before felt the way it hardens your skin into something nearly indestructible, lets you laugh at fire. That was never what stayed with me, though.
Cassian and I wasted that power on stupid experiments, on curiosity instead of survival. I remember daring him to touch me, seeing if his gentle hands could reach me through the armor.
What a waste.
Of blood. Of s*x. Of everything.
“So you’re a dragon,” I say to Draven, steering my thoughts somewhere safer. “Soren’s a wolf, like me.” I turn to Art. “What about you?”
Art grins. “You really haven’t figured it out?”
“Should I have?”
“You pegged Draven immediately,” he says. “We were impressed.”
“Well, dragons aren’t subtle.”
“Neither are bears.”
I blink. “Bears?”
He spreads his hands. “You can’t smell it?”
“I mean, you’re all cross-contaminating the air,” I say. “It’s hard to tell who’s what.”
“Fair,” he concedes. “Draven tends to overpower everything.”
“f**k off,” Draven says, punching his arm.
“Can I see it?” I ask.
Art laughs. “You will. We’re going to need everyone today.” He pauses. “Though I’m surprised you asked about me first. Dragons are rare.”
“I’ve seen dragons before,” I say carefully.
Soren studies me for a moment, and my stomach tightens. Did I say too much?
But Art only shrugs. “To each her own. Let’s get ready.” He glances pointedly at my sheet. “You can’t wear that to work, Eira .”
“I can’t wear anything,” I reminded him. “I’ll be in wolf form. Might as well leave my clothes here.”
“Can you get out without being seen?” Soren asks. “Because a wolf walking out of a human building might raise questions.”
“I’ve got a route,” I say. “The laundry room door opens straight to the woods. If we’re careful, no one will notice.”
Art nods. “Your call. You’re the one who answers questions.”
“I do this all the time.”
And it feels good to say that. To lead. To be the one who knows the way.
We slip out together, and once we hit the trees, I shed my skin and run.
The brothers follow.
Today’s job will be harder. Deadlier.
But after last night after what we shared it’s hard to believe there’s anything we can’t do.
And I’m ready to find out.
- Writer
