Page 102 of Shattered Jewel

In one corner stands a mahogany desk cluttered with an array of tarot cards and crystals. Against the adjacent wall, filled shelves overburdened with aging texts bear testament to Clover’s fascination with the Titan Falls history and the occult.

I study the back of her head as she moves to an ornate high-backed chair near her private fireplace.

Does she know about the Cimmerian Court leaders and their sick obsession?

Clover gestures to a matching chair across from her.

“Sit,” she urges. “We can talk here without any interruption.”

I lower into the plush cushion of the chair. It’s soft, warm and welcoming, and completely unlike the reception the guys swore I’d receive if I visited the Vultures.

And I can’t shake off Wilder’s parting gaze. It was too intense, smoldering with something inky and fiery. To be wanted like that … the memory of it prickles like an unattended flame, licking at my insides. I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

Clover seems to sense my discomfort. “You have to talk to them.”

“What?” I blink at her.

“Your men,” she clarifies, resting her elbow on the armrest, her chin on her folded fingers. “Right now, they’re sharks circling your bloodied waters. You need to make them see you as their companion, not their meal.” Her eyes take on a wistful glint as she adds, “Trust me, it took time for me, too.”

“I don’t—” I stammer, thrown off by her bluntness. But should I expect anything else from Clover Callahan?

Back when I used to hang out with a bunch of friends, the girls talked about her all the time. How Clover was more strange than popular, preferred black to school colors, and managed to score four of the hottest men on campus. And as soon as she did, two left their full-time positions so they could live with her.

“How does she cast such a spell?” I remember them wailing. “Chaos magic fueled by daddy issues? An unholy alliance with the god of morning wood?”

“They might be complicated,” Clover continues, unperturbed by the thoughts that I’m positive are all over my face.

She rises to pull out a hefty bottle of whiskey from under her desk. It glints in the warm light of the room as she pours two generous measures, the scent of rich, aged liquor settling with the smell of burning wood from the fire. “But so are you.”

“That’s me,” I say, perching on the edge of my chair as she hands me a glass. I stare into its amber depths, observing my gold-hued face mirrored back at me. “Complex and steeped in danger.”

Clover laughs, easy and intimate. “You’d have to be, to grab their attention. And if you’ve also sold your soul to the god of morning wood, all the better.”

I gape at her, now certain she can read minds. She stares back innocently.

“How did you know?” I manage to ask. This is as close as I’ve gotten to openly admitting I’m falling for them. “That I’m into more than one guy?”

“As much as they refuse comparisons to their title, my guys really do chatter like birds,” Clover says. “My brother, Tempest, was the first to notice, since he was following you for a while.”

I nod, not surprised. He did corner me at an abandoned mine and say as much.

Gripping my glass tighter, I take a deep sip, then try not to cough at the burn. “It’s not easy being involved with one dominant man. Let alone four.”

A wry smile plays on her lips, though there’s an edge to it—a hint of battles fought and won. “You have to be sure about who you are and what you want. Establish boundaries and stick to them, even when they push. Especially when they push.”

“But they must fight against those boundaries all the time?” I probe.

She nods sagely, swirling her whiskey in thought. “They do.”

Clover raises her eyes to mine, their sparkling amusement giving away how much she loves it when they try.

We share a smile, and I take a moment to absorb Clover’s words, the whiskey warming my throat and spreading into my bloodstream.

“I want to be with them,” I confess. “But I’m afraid of losing myself in the process.”

“You won’t lose yourself. They’ll always push, Elara. It’s in their nature. But you have to know when to push back, when to stand your ground. They respect strength, even if they don’t always like it.”

I set my empty glass aside. My thoughts drift to Wilder and the sheer intensity of his presence, regardless of his mood. And Cav’s chilling desire, Kaspian’s deliberate crossing of moral boundaries, Axe’s haunted, visceral touch.

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