At the Table
1096 Words
Steam still clung to my skin as I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in borrowed comfort. The leggings Aria had pressed into my hands were like a second skin, smooth as silk and softer than anything I had ever touched before. The oversized hoodie smelled faintly of fresh laundry and something floral, enveloping me in a warmth that was more than just physical. For the first time since the storm began, I wasn’t trembling.
When I pushed the door open, both Selene and Aria looked up from the bed where they had been waiting.
“Well?” Aria asked, tilting her head with a grin. “Feeling better?”
I nodded timidly, tugging the sleeve of the hoodie over my hand. “Yes. Thank you. These clothes are… they’re amazing.” I hesitated, my throat tightening, shame creeping into my chest. “I’m sorry, though—I don’t have any money, or anything to offer in exchange. I can tell these are expensive.”
I smoothed the leggings self-consciously, marveling again at their texture. Clothes like these had always been for other people, the kind who walked into boutiques without glancing at price tags. Not for girls like me.
Aria’s gasp was dramatic and immediate. She shot to her feet and wrapped me in a hug before I could flinch. “Omg, no! That is so not an issue. Seriously. Clothes are replaceable. You’re not.”
Selene didn’t rush to hug me, but her eyes softened, thoughtful. “Hmm,” she murmured after a pause. “How about we head downstairs? I mindlinked the boys to give them a heads up.”
I blinked. “You what?”
Selene froze, almost imperceptibly.
Aria swooped in, laughing too quickly. “Oh, that’s just what she calls yelling at the boys from upstairs. You know—mindlinking.” She waved her hands playfully, but I caught the flicker of something else in her eyes. The two exchanged another one of those silent looks, full of meaning I couldn’t grasp.
I pressed my lips together. They had been nothing but kind to me, wrapping me in warmth I hadn’t expected to find here, but they were still strangers. Strangers with secrets. Best not to overthink.
“Alright,” I said instead, adjusting the hoodie around me.
The three of us headed down the staircase together. My hand brushed the smooth railing, my mind tangled in worries. Should I call Kade? It was late, far past midnight now. Would he even answer? Would he come? Or would I only hear the sharpness in his voice, the disappointment? Maybe it was better to just stay here, beg these people for one night’s shelter, and figure out what to do in the morning.
The house was no quieter than when I’d first entered. Music still drifted faintly from a speaker somewhere, laughter and clattering echoing through the wide space. We followed the sound into a dining area that looked like something out of a dream: a long wooden table sat beneath a chandelier of wrought iron, its warm glow spilling across the room. Plates and cutlery were being laid out by the men I’d glimpsed earlier.
Ash was among them.
The moment we entered, his gaze snapped to me. It was only for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable, but the weight of it pressed into my chest. He turned back almost instantly, resuming whatever task had his attention before. My lungs remembered how to move only after Selene touched my arm lightly, steering me forward.
“Perfect timing,” Luca called cheerfully, setting down a basket of bread. He grabbed a steaming mug from the counter and walked over to me. “Tea?”
I accepted it gratefully, the heat of the porcelain seeping into my palms. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Luca said, his smile quick and easy.
“Dinner will be ready in five,” Caius announced from across the table, gesturing toward the stove where another man—Dorian, I assumed—was plating food with practiced precision. “You’re in luck. Dorian’s an amazing chef. Better be hungry.”
My brows knit. “Wait… am I eating with you guys?”
Luca chuckled, the sound low and teasing. “Of course. Selene and Aria would never let a guest leave without feeding them first. You’d start a riot.”
Selene smacked him lightly on the back of the head, but her grin betrayed her affection. “Ignore him. He’s an i***t. Come on, sit here.”
She pulled out a chair for me, and though awkwardness twisted in my stomach, I obeyed. The seat was warm, the table gleaming under the lights. For the first time in years, I was being invited, not tolerated.
Aria plopped down next to me with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m here for you.”
Around us, the others moved with ease, setting dishes down, bantering, teasing each other in ways that spoke of years of friendship. Their laughter filled the room like sunlight spilling through glass. It was strange to sit among it, stranger still to realize how desperately I wanted to stay in that warmth.
Then Ash came.
The air shifted the second he stepped away from the kitchen and crossed toward the table. His damp hair was gone, replaced with dark waves brushed neatly back, still a little unruly at the ends. He wore a deep navy shirt tucked into black dress pants, the top two buttons undone, revealing the sculpted line of his collarbone and the faint definition of muscle beneath. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms dusted faintly with dark hair, veins prominent with restrained power.
When he lowered himself into the chair at the head of the table—right next to mine—it was as if the entire room stilled. He leaned back, one hand curling around a glass of wine. The scent of him drifted toward me: crisp pine, leather, and something faintly smoky, like firewood burning on a cold night.
My cheeks burned.
Every line of his jaw, every shift of muscle beneath his shirt, seemed too sharp, too deliberate. He looked nothing like the men who had cornered me earlier tonight. And yet he was dangerous in his own way—dangerous because I could feel myself being drawn in.
I forced myself to stare at the mug in my hands instead.
And still, I felt it: his eyes on me. Quiet, steady, as though he, too, had forgotten the room around us.
- Writer
