The transition was final. After a day that felt like a marathon of heavy lifting and heavier emotions, I finally crossed the threshold into Evander's domain. Before he vanished to his office, he left me with a cryptic map of the household's geography. This house was a sprawling labyrinth, and apparently, a bureaucratic minefield; he claimed rooms three, four, and five were strictly off-limits to avoid some vague trouble with the lease. That left me with the second room, while the master suite remained his. He gave me a firm command: Stay put and don't settle in until I'm back. Naturally, my body had other plans. Exhaustion had carved a hollow in my chest, and I decided to succumb to a quick nap.
I drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, suspended in that golden haze between wakefulness and sleep. It was then that the air shifted. A scent began to wrap around me—a potent, intoxicating blend of creed masculinity, effortless grace, and something dangerously familiar. In my drowsy state, I assumed it was a dream, a trick of my subconscious, and a small, involuntary smile lit up my face even as my eyelids remained heavy.
Minutes ticked by, the scent growing stronger, until my curiosity finally overrode my fatigue. I forced my eyes open, and my heart nearly staged a coup against my ribs.
There sat Marcus.
He was staring at me with an intensity so raw, so focused, it felt as though he were committing every line of my face to memory, as if I were the Mona Lisa and he was a man discovering art for the first time. We held the gaze—a silent, electrified bridge spanning the distance between us—until a mysterious force seemed to snap him back to reality. He jerked his eyes away, the spell broken.
"Was taking a nap," I managed to croak, the words feeling clumsy as I tried to shatter the heavy silence.
"I see," he replied, his voice regaining that polished, distant edge. "Let me not disturb you then."
He rose and walked with a predatory elegance straight toward the second room—my room—and the door clicked shut behind him with a finality that left me reeling. What in the name of God was he doing in there? That was my designated sanctuary, yet he had walked into it like he was reclaiming lost territory.
Left with nothing but my confusion, I retreated to the living room and put on 50 Shades of Grey. It was the sixteenth time I'd watched it, I think; at this point, it was just background noise for my spiraling thoughts. Evander was still MIA, Marcus was a ghost behind my bedroom door, and the boredom was beginning to feel like a physical weight. I hadn't seen my girls in three days—a lifetime in our world—and the isolation was stifling.
Suddenly, my phone shrieked, the screen flashing the name Bishop.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears.
"I was on my way," Evander's voice crackled through the line, "but the traffic is a nightmare. I parked at a diner nearby to grab some dinner."
I knew he was home, or at least he should have been, because there was a "thing" he'd promised to tell me hours ago. "What about the thing you were supposed to tell me two hours ago?" I asked, leaning into the drama to mask my genuine irritation.
"About that..." He paused, and I could practically hear him calculating. "Is Marcus home yet?"
"Uh-huh." I glanced toward the closed door of the second room. "I know he's here. He's currently occupying my bed."
"Ask him," Evander said, his tone turning suddenly serious, almost suspicious. "I wanted him to tell you 'our thing.' He'll explain everything."
My stomach did a slow, nauseating flip. "What games are you playing, Evander? I swear, if you two are—"
The line went dead. He hung up on me.
I stared at the black screen, the silence of the house suddenly feeling predatory. I had shaken hands with the devil when I made that deal with my brother, and as I looked toward the room where Marcus waited, I realized the bill was finally coming due.