“Morning!” Frankie smiles sweetly at us both, and I look to Ophelia in question. Frankie is never nice, and definitely not to me.
I don’t answer.
Ivy and Alessi are walking in together next, both already dressed for the day, which only leaves me and Ophelia in our sleeping clothes.
Alessi looks me up and down. “I know you didn’t join in on The Hunt last night, so I’m guessing I missed something.”
I place my bowl on the counter, my cheeks flushed red.
“Do I smell the way you all do? Is that it?” The smell of sweat, earth, and something spicy filled my nostrils the second Ophelia made her appearance this morning.
“Yes, but with blood…” Frankie says, an eyebrow quirked at me. “Hey, no judgment here.”
I empty my bowl and rinse it, placing it inside the dishwasher. A coven of witches who are all synced together. I guess I’m still partially new, so I’m not getting as good of a read on them as they are on me.
“Well, speak for yourself…” Frankie mutters, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.
“What? You didn’t?” Ophelia asks, her eyes swinging around to all of them. Obviously, I’m missing something.
“Nope,” Frankie exhales, falling onto one of the barstools with a glass of water gripped in her hand. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not the right match, no matter how often he always finds me.”
“Impossible,” Veronica interrupts, standing at the threshold of where the kitchen meets the main foyer. Her words are for Frankie, but her eyes are on me. “You’re both perfect for each other. Give Samael time.” She uncrosses her arms and tightens the belt of her robe. “He just needs time.”
I try to ignore her as she moves around the kitchen.
“Saint, nice shirt.”
I run my tongue over my bottom lip, chewing on it softly.
“I can’t say I’m surprised, but I didn’t exactly peg it either. My apologies.”
This is the time I should ask her about their relationship and what it is about. After Frankie saying that Brantley usually goes for older women, I want to know about Veronica and what she is to him. It’s only fair since he seems to fly off the handle by me simply touching another man. I could ask Brantley, but I don’t want to give him the chance to lie to me. It would hurt too much and make me overthink about why he’s lying to me. Mostly, I’m just wanting to get a read on Veronica herself, but she’s not easy to read. I’ve never had this problem; usually people are much easier to analyze, but Veronica has emotional shields strong enough to withstand an apocalypse.
She chuckles slightly, raising her mug to her lips. Something stirs inside of me that knows that chuckle was aimed at me. Not for me. At me. I turn to face her. I snap.
“What are you to Brantley?”
Everyone falls quiet. Even Ophelia has nothing to say.
Veronica takes a long sip of her hot coffee, closing her eyes before opening them onto mine and placing her mug on the counter. “I think that’s something you should ask Brantley.”
“Ask Brantley what?” He walks into the kitchen shirtless but with his running shorts on, oblivious to the way every single one of the women in this room is gawking at him. Or maybe he does know and he just doesn’t care.
I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, annoyed at myself for showing any kind of emotion toward their—whatever it is. Veronica’s eyebrows are raised as if she’s waiting for me to repeat myself. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction, so I head back up to my bedroom. Jealousy burns inside my gut a lot worse than it did yesterday, and I’m sure it has everything to do with the fact we, once again, had sex last night. I knew if I stayed in there any longer, I was going to either embarrass myself further, or worse, expose myself. Back in my bedroom, I find all of my clothes packed up in suitcases at the end of the bed. I sort through the closest one and find some bike shorts and an oversized Nirvana shirt, pairing them with white socks and sneakers. I leave my hair out in natural waves, shoving Brantley’s shirt into the bag I took clothes out of. I should go back down and face him. He’s going to find me anyway and ask what I was talking about. At least now I don’t feel so vulnerable wearing nothing but a shirt.
The hallway is long, marbled, and clean. This house feels more like a museum than it does a home. Furnishings are oversized, the doors, staircase, and even the artwork the same. Yet among the pristine walls and silverware, I feel at home here. Much like I do back at the manor. I reach twin doors at the end, both handles dipped in gold to match the artistic paintings all over the ceiling and walls. My hand is on one, while the other is at my side. Should I knock? I should knock.
I push the doors open and freeze. Brantley is leaning against Veronica’s desk while she sits back looking up at him from her chair. From this angle, she looks snug between his legs. My stomach drops, and I’m almost certain all that granola I just ate is about to projectile out.
“Brantley…” I say, my fingers wrapping around the gold handle so tight I feel as though I might tear it right off the hinges. I might just kill the Devil. What an unexpected turn of events that would be.
He looks over his shoulder at me, unfazed. My eyes water, but I keep the tears down. Pain is begging to be felt, but it will have to wait. Anger is more important right now.
“Don’t ever touch me again.” I spin around and run out the way I came. So much for anger. My anger just dissolved into more pain and now I need my phone. Need Bishop. Need to be alone. What the hell am I doing here? I should be with him. My family. I know he’ll come to me right away; he always will.
“Saint!” I hear my name, but I can’t see. I can’t focus. Water has blurred my eyes, and all of the pretty art pieces I admired on the way down here are nothing but that—watercolor. Hands are around my wrist and I’m being tugged backward. “You’re fucking pissing me off.”
I pause when my face hits his chest, and I’m looking up at him through the tears.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his fingers on my cheek, swiping them away. “Fuck.” His arm is around my waist, his hands on my upper thigh as he picks me up from the ground.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” My heart is as bruised as the scars he leaves on my skin, yet my legs find themselves around his waist anyway. In this moment, I hate myself. I hate that I’m not strong enough to fight the way he makes me feel. I hate that as much as I feel sick to my stomach by what I just saw, I still need him to wrap me in his arms and tell me he’s mine.
He tugs on my hair to hold my head in place, his lips touching the shell of my ear. “As much as I love hearing such filthy words come out of that innocent little mouth, you’re not about to walk out thinking I’m fucking someone else.” He places me back onto the ground and closes the doors behind us. I realize we’re back in Veronica’s office, if that’s what you would even call it, and she’s still on her chair, legs crossed and a cigarette between her fingers.
“I don’t want to be here, or in the middle of whatever this is.” I turn to face Brantley. “You once asked me if it was something I could want.” I take another step. His eyes cross slightly when I come too close. “Maybe being with other people like so many are in the EKC world.” My fingers are at his chin, squeezing before he can answer. “The answer is no. I would have been happy with just you. Just you. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s not about what the women in the EKC want, it’s about the men.”