by Chloe Adler
She holds her hand up. “You’re right, Iphigenia, you’re nothing like them. You’re worse than they are. At least they didn’t try to hide it, to pretend they were something they were not. Unlike you. How duplicitous.”
My chest tightens as though I’ve been stabbed, not just shamed.
“Ms. Holt,” Rhys holds up a hand, “Iphi is the kindest and most loving person that any of us have ever met.”
Aurelia snorts. “Compared to the tarts you men usually surround yourselves with, I’m sure that’s true.”
Rhys looks like he wants to say more, but I raise a hand. It’s sweet, but this isn’t about them. Or me. It’s about Aurelia.
She takes the interruption as her due and barrels on. “Why would you hurt me like this? After your siblings crushed me, after you promised not to do the same?” Her voice raises an octave and her hands shake. “Please, Iphigenia, be the bigger person. Say goodbye to your boyfriends and come back home. Haven’t you been happy with me and Alistair?”
Unable to control my tongue, as if it has a mind of its own, I whisper, “No, Mom, I haven’t.” Once it’s out, I know it to be true. What’s been said can’t be unsaid, denied, or revoked.
Her beautiful face crumples behind her hands.
My heart cracks inside my chest. I want to throw myself at her and cry but now is the time to hold my ground. “Mama, all I’ve ever wanted was to make you proud but in doing so, I lost myself.”
Her nostrils flare. “Selfish girl, just like Sadie and Chrys, putting yourself and your needs first. No different.” Her voice cracks and she turns to leave.
“Mother, please,” I cry. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you!”
“Too late,” she sobs and walks out the door.
A wave of nausea courses through my stomach but I swallow it down. Rhys rushes to my side and I sag into his grip. His hand is on the back of my head, crushing me to his broad chest as the tears pour out. If I weren’t so distraught, I’d be embarrassed, breaking down in front of them, but in moments, all of their arms are around me, holding me, petting my head, and whispering into my ears.
The sensations overwhelm me but not my grief. I’ve always prided myself on my strength. I am the person others come to for help and support, even my own mother. I was the one who helped her navigate the waters of a new relationship. The one who comforted her when first one, then two of her daughters left her. The one who picked up the pieces after Father took off with a demon. It’s all too much, this responsibility. Who takes care of me? Who’s ever taken care of me? My breath comes in gasps and the men are pushing me down. Why? I struggle against them, but a thick film slides across my vision.
“Slow your breathing down,” one of the men says but I don’t know who.
“Is there a paper bag anywhere?” another shouts. “Get her a paper bag.”
“Don’t let her head hit the . . .”
Chapter Seventeen
Iphigenia
My mouth is dry and I’m shivering. My body feels like it belongs to someone else, as though I’m merely a ghost inhabiting a shell. I crack open my eyes, then slam them shut again. So bright. Where am I? In a soft bed, but not my own. Sitting up too quickly, I hit my head on a low ceiling. I rub the sore spot and then my aching temples. Such a deep ache, too, one that stretches farther than the confines of my body, like tendrils of rope reaching up and into the ether.
A knock sounds on an unfamiliar door. “Come in.” I shimmy onto my belly to peek down out of the loft.
The door below me cracks open just a sliver and Dominic pokes his head in. He props open the door and pushes inside, carrying a tray laden with food. Delicious scents waft up into the loft.
The space below me looks like a little den. The room is cozy with a pot bellied stove, dark wooden walls, and furniture. There’s a rustic brown leather couch and two brown leather chairs that remind me of the type you’d see in a therapist’s office.
“Where am I?”
“Do you want me to come up there?” he asks.
Goddess, no. I’m not sure I even want him to come in. But he’s radiating nothing but calm concern. “No, I’ll come down.”
“How are you feeling?”
My head is still pounding, but instead of answering him, I scramble out of view, sitting up on my knees, checking to make sure that I’m decent. Whoever put me up here has changed me into a man’s T-shirt and boxer shorts. If the food weren’t tempting me, if my head weren’t pounding, if I weren’t so confused as to where I am and how I’ve gotten here, I’d be mortified.
I scoot myself to the edge of the loft and climb down the ladder, which is a piece of art in itself. The rungs are fashioned from actual tree branches, smoothed knots and all. Directly beneath the loft is a galley kitchen decked out in dark mahogany with black marble countertops. The walls themselves look to be made from stacked tree trunks. If I didn’t feel like total crap, I’d be marveling over the craftsmanship of this place. “To answer your question, I feel like I was run over by a truck.” I blow a curl out of my face.
“I’m not surprised to hear that, but I am sorry. I recommend you rest as much as you can today and drink a lot of water. May I?” He reaches toward my forehead and I nod. His hand is cool and feels good resting there.
“No fever,” he announces. “Time to take your mind off things and eat up.”
Dominic places the tray on the counter that separates the kitchen from the living space, then pulls out a stool. He arranges the plate and a cup of orange juice before opening drawers and getting napkins and cutlery. With all his fussing, he does a good job of avoiding my gaze.
“Have a seat.” He juts his chin toward the counter.
Sitting down on the stool, I breathe in the scents of food. He hands me a fork, knife, and napkin. I place the last on my lap.
“Where am I?” I ask again, fork poised above what looks like an egg scramble.
“You’re on our property, in one of our tiny homes.”
“Tiny homes?”
The smile he produces warms my fluttering chest and dulls the pain in my temples. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him really smile before. Not at me, surely. “When Sheldon asked us to move here, he offered us this place.”
“You all live in this teeny house?” There is barely enough room here for two people. How can all four of them live here?
“No.” His lips curve. “There are five of these on the property. This one is mine.”
“Five little houses? Where? Are we still in the Edge?” I peer out of a window to my right but all I can see are trees.
“Yes, they’re called tiny homes. They’re ideal for us. We call our community the Grove. I’ll give you a tour after breakfast.”
“So you each live in one? Not together, but alone?”
He nods.
“But why tiny houses? Why not one large house for all of you?”
Dominic takes in a long breath, holding it for a beat before letting it out. “Our childhood was difficult, unconventional. None of us had our own space, ever. This way we each get a place to call our own and we get to keep it in whatever state works for us. Thorn, for example, is not the cleanest of the bunch so he can keep his place messy. Whereas that would drive me and Rhys insane and we’d be on him all the time.”
“Why not just live apart then, in your own apartments or houses?”
“We couldn’t bear to be apart from one another. It’s a long story. The four of us suffered together and it bonded us, deeply.”
“And all of these little houses are next to one another here?”
“Eat your breakfast and then I’ll show you.” He perches on the stool next to me, jutting his chin toward my plate.
He doesn’t have to tell me again, the food is so tempting. Plus I like the way he speaks to me, taking the time to enunciate each word. Besides, maybe he’s got a point. I’m brimming with questions, but I’m weak with hunger and not ready for answers just yet. Wrapping myself in Dominic’s calm, unhurried presence
, I tell myself the world can wait.
Dominic
She falls on the meal like a feral cat that hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Delicious,” she groans around the food, her cheeks filled like a chipmunk’s.
She looks so adorable that I have to stifle a laugh. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable or draw her attention to the carefree way she’s acting. From what Rhys tells me, this poor girl has never really been free to be herself. Given what I know about this sort of pathology, she may not even know who she truly is. She’s lived under the thumb of a dictator her entire life. Her mother would probably be shaming her right now with words like: We do not talk with our mouths full. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Did you make it?” she asks between bites.
“Thank you, I did. We take turns cooking breakfast. Wait until you taste Thorn’s famous pancakes.”
“I can’t wait. I love pancakes.” She pauses, her fork in the air, and beams up at me. Her lovely blue eyes are open and trusting but the trained professional in me can see pain there, too, probably something she’d rather hide.
Her brows furrow a few minutes later. “Can you tell me what happened last night?” Her plate is empty of all but the strip of half-eaten bacon she’s toying with, grease dripping down her fingers. Then she freezes, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, I didn’t close the show, did I?”
I shake my head, handing her another napkin.
Ignoring it, she asks, “What did they do?”
“It worked out fine. The other performers covered for you. You fainted.”
She drops the bacon onto her plate but it bounces off, landing on the floor. “You’re kidding, right?” Her mouth gapes open.
“No joke. After your mother’s display, you collapsed. But we were all there to help you.”
She places her head in her hands, scratching her scalp and rubbing her forehead. The stool wobbles precariously.
“Hey.” I reach out to steady her. “Let’s move to the couch for a minute.”
With glassy eyes, she lets me lead her there. After I make sure she’s situated, I get her a glass of water and join her. “Drink this.”
Without making eye contact, she does as she’s told, handing the glass back to me. She wets her lips. “The last thing I remember is my mother storming out of the dressing room.”
“Yes, that’s when you fainted.”
She gives a little shake of her head, rubbing her forehead again. “I’ve never fainted in my life. Why?” Her eyes search mine and for once, I can’t keep my distance, not when she so obviously needs affection. I put my arm around her, pulling her into me. To my surprise, she nestles against my shoulder without hesitation, wrapping an arm around my middle and sighing.
The smell of her nuzzled up against me is a momentary distraction. And if I had no clue before this moment what my brothers see in this woman, I would get it now. Never before have I met anyone like her. A woman so giving, so emotionally available and strong that it brings out my fierce desire to protect her in every way. Unlike Thorn’s cast-offs, a few of whom couldn’t seem to stand on their own, I don’t mind being her shoulder to cry on. Perhaps because she’s too strong to need it. Perhaps because she’s not sniffing at me like I’m a runner-up prize.
I clear my throat, bringing my attention back to what she wants right now, not what I’m going through from being so close to her. “Sometimes, when a person experiences high emotions like you did last night, their body shuts down. It’s a protection mechanism, really. Nothing to worry about or be ashamed of.”
“How do you know?” She pulls back to search my face.
“I’m a licensed psychologist. It’s also what I do on the police force. I’m the person who assesses criminals and the like.”
She chews her lip absently. “So does that mean there’s something wrong with me, psychologically?”
“Not at all.” I pat her leg. Shit, bad idea. I snatch it away and focus on her eyes. Not the acres of smooth, creamy skin exposed by the boxer shorts she’s wearing. My boxer shorts. Another bad idea. She’s not for me, so why is it so satisfying to smother her in my clothes, my scent? “Quite the opposite. Your body knew how to protect itself and reacted accordingly.”
“What would have happened if I hadn’t fainted?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Everyone needs an outlet for anger or high emotions. Lashing out is the most common reaction, but everyone is different.”
“Lashing out physically?”
“That’s one way. Physicality is more frequently a male trait. But people also do it verbally as well. I liken it to a pressure cooker with built-up steam. Where does that steam go? Nowhere until it’s let out, given a means of escape. The body is the same way.”
“And my means was fainting.”
“Exactly. How do you usually blow off steam?”
“Exercise. If I’m upset, I work out. If I’m sad or feeling emotional about something, I spend time with animals, usually my cat or a neighbor’s dog.”
And if I’m drowning in longing for another man’s woman, I would take the first opportunity to lock her in my den. This is exactly what I did. Physician, heal thyself. Yeah, right.
“Dominic?”
“Yeah?” Our gazes lock, her hungry eyes roving across my face. She wolfed down her breakfast already, though I’m not sure that’s the kind of meal she’s hungry for right now. She throws her arms around me, pressing her lithe body into mine.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my ear, nuzzling my neck with her nose.
I give up trying to hide my arousal and pull her closer to me, her body yielding. I’m moving her on top of my throbbing dick when the front door of the little house flies open.
Chapter Eighteen
Dominic
“Oh. Um.” Rhys stands immobile in the doorway. Iphi nearly falls trying to dismount while I look around for something, anything, to cover my hard-on.
Rhys doesn’t move. The four of us haven’t had reason to knock before, having lived together for decades with no distinction of mine and yours. The blurred lines of privacy obviously need to be addressed and revised. He’s gaping at us, but a smile plays at the corner of his lips.
“Rhys.” Iphi rights herself, raising her chin, but the cute flush of red all the way to the tips of her ears gives her away.
“I can come back later.” Rhys grins. Wait, grins? Is the man high? Does he not comprehend what a disaster this almost was? “I’m happy to see you’re getting to know each other so well.” He winks at me. The fucking lunatic. And that’s my professional opinion.
“No, no. Stay.” Iphi climbs back onto the barstool and resumes eating her breakfast. “Dom was just helping me understand a few things.”
Rhys raises his brows.
“About last night,” she blurts out. “Not about . . .” She waves a hand around. “Oh, never mind. Just stay. Please.”
“Okay.” He shrugs, closes the front door, and takes a seat next to her at the counter. “Well I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”
Instead of looking at him or responding, she chugs her remaining orange juice. Even nervous looks good on her.
Time to throw her—and myself—a conversational lifeline. “Rhys lives here, too, you know.”
“You do?” she asks. She puts down her empty glass, now on safer ground.
Rhys inclines his head. “I do.”
“Why? How?”
He exchanges a look with me, his jaw tightening, then turns back to Iphi. “We’re all working on this rogue vampire thing together and I didn’t have a place to call home when I got to the Edge. I was in a hotel.”
“What about with Chrys, Carter, and Julian?” she asks.
“I didn’t want to take Alistair’s room. Most of his things were still there when I arrived and it didn’t feel right to move them out.”
“Plus we had plenty of room here.” But in truth there is no way we would have let Rhys stay in a hotel or with his grandfather. Not a
fter Carter’s mother all but abandoned him and Nolan when their mother died. After spending basically our entire childhood growing up together, he is undeniably one of us. As crucial to all of us as an arm or a leg.
“Were you all friends growing up?”
“Yeah.” That’s one word for it. “We’ve always been tight. We even work together, when we can. Back in NYC, we got Rhys a job teaching martial arts at the police academy we attended, and we’re trying to talk Sheldon into adding some continuing education classes for the Edge PD.”
“Speaking of teaching,” Rhys looks at Iphi, “I’d like to train you. That way you’ll be able to defend yourself if one of us isn’t around.”
“That’s a great idea.” I pick up the piece of bacon she dropped earlier, toss it in the trash, and then take the seat on the other side of her.
“I’d like that,” she agrees. “The independent part of me definitely wants to learn some self-defense so I don’t have to rely on my silver-pepper spray and amulet.”
“Great. I’d say we can start after breakfast, but we need your help with something else first.” Rhys looks at me.
Shit, how could I have forgotten? It was my idea not to upset Iphi after her fainting spell, but now it’s gone on too long without us telling her. Even though it really did slip my mind, with her as a distraction, I know she won’t see it that way.
“My help? With what?”
“Iphi.” I hold my hands out. “I should have told you sooner and I apologize. I didn’t want to upset you before explaining why you fainted and helping you through that.”
Her face pales.
“It’s Thorn.” I wince.
She leaps off her stool, breakfast forgotten. “What’s wrong with him?”
I put a hand on her shoulder, resting it there. “Your mother’s spell. It’s frozen him in his shift.”
“He can’t change back,” adds Rhys.
