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Amora

Back at the house,I slip into the bathroom to clean up a little bit, splashing water on my face and wiping up the mess between my legs with a wad of toilet paper.

When Kian and I step into the kitchen, Malix is elbow deep in the pantry. Sunlight pours through the three picture windows at the back of the house, illuminating every dark corner of the room. A skillet already sits on the stove with something sizzling inside, and a coffee pot percolates on the counter.

Malix glances over at us, and his nostrils flare. Despite my half-assed attempt at cleaning up, I know he can smell the sex on us, but he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t really seem jealous or bothered at all, but normally, I’m sure he wouldn’t miss a chance to bust Kian’s balls. I can’t help but think that his muted reaction has a lot to do with his worry for Frost.

None of us are at our best right now.

Malix sets an unopened can of salsa on the counter, then closes the pantry door.

“Whoever these people were, they left a lot of shit behind. There are clothes for you over there.” He points at the old, scratched wooden table where a pile waits for us. He’s already wearing a pair of loose gray sweatpants and a ratty old white t-shirt. “I wish I could tell you it’s fresh eggs for breakfast, but it’s not. It’s black beans with salsa and stale Pop-Tarts.”

I snort and reach for the clothes to sort them out. “What a feast.”

Kian grunts his agreement and bypasses the clothes to head for the coffee maker. “At least there’s coffee.”

“Yeah. It expired five months ago, but…” Malix shrugs, dumping half the jar of salsa into the skillet.

Kian makes a face and reaches for one of the clean mugs Malix has left waiting on the counter. “But beggars can’t be choosers or some shit.”

Slipping my arms into a soft t-shirt, I drag it over my head and free my dark hair from the collar before I ask, “How’s Frost?”

“Still out cold,” Malix tells me, dipping a spatula in the skillet. “He’s doing all right though. His color is good and his breathing is normal. It’s just a waiting game right now.”

The t-shirt and cotton shorts Malix found for me clearly belonged to a teenager. The shorts fit fine, but the t-shirt only comes to my midriff, revealing a strip of skin above the drawstring waist. Not to mention my butt now proudly declares CHEER. One of those human practices I’ve never understood and couldn’t give two shits about.

Kian and I switch places—him carrying his black coffee to the table to dress while I help myself to the coffee.

“Did you get Frost dressed?” I ask Malix, dumping a spoon of sugar into the steaming liquid in my mug.

“No.” He jerks his chin toward the table. “There are clothes for him over there too.”

Clutching the mug in both hands, I lean my hip against the counter and raise an eyebrow at him. “Did you cover him up, at least? It’s like sixty degrees down there.”

Malix returns my arched eyebrow as he switches off the burner on the stove. “Of course I did. What do you take me for, kitty? I’m not going to torture a man when he’s down. Especially not my own damn brother.”

I hold up my hands, careful not to spill a drop of coffee as I keep a firm grip on the handle. It may be expired, but it’s still precious, as far as I’m concerned. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”

He points at me with his wooden spoon and tosses a look over his shoulder at Kian. “Listen to this woman. Acting like we haven’t taken care of each other for decades without her to boss us around.”

Rolling my eyes, I press away from the counter and carry my mug to the table. “Fine. Point taken.”

I opt for a Pop-Tart for breakfast, because salsa just doesn’t sound good for my stomach at the moment. They’re strawberry flavored, which I know means there’s not a single damn strawberry in them, but they’re tasty nonetheless. It occurs to me briefly that maybe I should be concerned that old, expired Pop-Tarts don’t taste any different than fresh ones, but at the moment, I’m too fucking hungry to care.

My stomach growls at the exact moment I bite into the first pastry, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. While Kian and Malix fill up heaping bowls of beans and dollar brand salsa, I polish off the entire Pop-Tart and start on the second one from the foil packet before they join me at the table.

Silence falls over the kitchen for a while, broken only by the clink of silverware and the intermittent thud of a coffee mug being picked up and then set down.

Usually, silences between me and any of these men are loaded. First because I was planning to kill them all, then because they were planning to destroy our bond. Always the subterfuge and ulterior motives between us.

But for the first time, it feels almost companionable, despite the fact that things are still pretty dire.

I break the silence by clearing my throat, then I ask, “When Frost wakes up, should we be prepared for him to not be… well, not be himself? I mean, the way he acted after he was resuscitated…”

Kian and Malix look up at the same time, the sad expression on their faces nearly identical. But then Kian looks away, turning his attention back down to his mostly empty plate and leaving Malix to respond.

“It’s a possibility,” Malix agrees carefully, digging his fork into his bowl rather than looking at me. He’s got a small cut on his cheekbone, and I can tell there’s a bruise forming beneath it, a remnant from our fight with Quinton and his minions.

“How big of a possibility?” I press. Part of me doesn’t want to know, but I feel like I need to brace myself for whatever might be coming. The more I can understand what Frost is going through right now, the better equipped I’ll be to try to help him.

“He’s probably overwhelmed by shadows,” Malix tells me. “On a normal day, they’re a constant presence we’re all aware of. Now, though? He’s got more of them inside him than normal.” He sits back in his chair and tosses his fork down in the bowl, then rubs both his hands over his angular face. “He’s probably more shadow than shifter now, after what Quinton did to him.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good thing.”

“It’s not,” Malix says dully. “The shadows? They’re like parasites. Powerful, untamed. An immutable part of us, but also something entirely separate. He may not be able to fight off their influence.”

“But you were all capable of fighting off the shadows that Felicity sent after us,” I point out. “You can fight off shadows when they attack you. When they’re outside you. So maybe it is possible for him to fight off the ones inside.”

Kian laughs bitterly. “Yeah, not going to happen. The ones that are in us? They’re a part of us. That’s like expecting you to fight off being stubborn.”

I glare at him, but don’t get a chance to come up with a witty retort. Malix picks up his fork again as he says, “Kian’s right. It’s like the shadows are knitted into our souls. It’s not like you can just separate the two things cleanly. And at the same time, they sort of have a will of their own. They don’t obey us just because they exist inside us.”

“Well, they must feel some sense of loyalty to you,” I point out. “Both times I’ve tried to kill one of you—”

Malix barks a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. “Fucking hell. We really have had a fucked up relationship, haven’t we?”

“That doesn’t matter now,” I say, waving a hand in the air between us. He’s not wrong, but that whole can of worms isn’t the focus of our conversation right now. “What I’m getting at is, both of those times, your shadows woke you up before I could do anything to hurt you. Surely that means something, right?”


Tags: Callie Rose Feral Shifters Paranormal