Page 78 of Forged By Shadows

A deep inhale helps Huxley to steel himself. His eyes close, blond lashes fluttering over his cheeks. He’s searching, hunting for that piece of his soul that helps him to shine. I don’t expect him to find it so easily, but there is a hint of a smirk when he looks at me again.

“Hey,” I bop him on the nose. “Are you ready to venture downstairs with me?”

“It depends on who sent you to ask,” Huxley’s brow lifts. I don’t know what that means, who Huxley seems to have issues with currently, so I deflect.

“I know you’ve been cooped up for a while, Hux,” I lean forward, resting my forearms on his shoulders. He’s easily distracted by my cleavage. “But do you really think I’ve started taking orders?” He chuckles lightly, playing with my hair.

“I think you’re easily bribed.” I laugh then. “Maybe I could be bribed too.” I bite my bottom lip, which he promptly pulls free with his thumb. His fingers are soft against my cheek, his knuckles stroking a path down my neck. Heat floods my system and it takes everything in me not to roll my hips to see if he is equally affected.

“Is that so? Maybe we can stroll up and down the hallway hand in hand while you tell me what it is you want.” I tilt my head back and forth. Huxley shifts, laying us both down on the mattress.

“Nice try, Little Swan,” his smile turns sad. “I’ll come out soon. Not today, but soon.” Huxley nuzzles into me further. Well, this has gone to shit. Nevertheless, my leg becomes locked between his thick thighs. I’m drawn into the protective hold he keeps around me, snuggled in his warmth.

“When you’re ready,” I agree, unable to withhold my yawn. My eyes have fluttered closed, despite the brightness all around. The midday sun streams through the window, viscerally reminding me that we’re all trapped here, whether by the paparazzi or by our own demons. “You’ve got about thirty minutes before Axel comes looking for me.” My voice becomes heavy, the weight of stress being interchanged for the weight of Huxley’s bicep.

“That’s all I need.” Huxley presses a kiss to my forehead and I’m a goner.

Chapter Fifty Three

Friday night. I nod slightly at myself in the bathroom mirror, my blue eyes wide and body coated in droplets from a recent shower.

I’ve barely seen the guys all day. Granted I’ve been locked away in my own room. I didn’t have half as many midterms as the others and Axel had an online lecture this afternoon so I took the chance to curl up in bed and read. Whenever Garrett’s planning is involved, I have no doubt I’ll need my energy. Physical, mental and social energy.

Beyond the bathroom, I hear my door open and click shut. Hugging the towel around myself, I peek out. There’s no one there, but a lone, nondescript box is on the floor just inside the room. I’m smiling before I’ve even picked it up and deposited it on the bed. The note on top reads:

‘Put it on and drink this. We’re already drunk.’

“So romantic,” I snort, lifting the lid. Wow, Garrett really pushed the boat out. A set of white lace underwear and a bottle of pink gin lies in the tissue paper. That’s all. I try not to overthink, trusting that there’s a plan. Or the plan is a drunken orgy, as I predicted. The set is simple and fits perfectly, a soft lace thong and a bra without any underwire. I slip a robe over the top, leaving my feet bare.

Chugging the gin, I spare another look in the bathroom mirror. My face is recently washed, fresh and slightly flushed. A smattering of freckles is visible over my nose. Chewing on my lip, I decide to leave myself free of make-up to match Garrett’s simplistic vibe. I twist my blonde hair up into a claw clip, the ends slightly damp and beginning to curl. That’s that.

Leaving the room behind, gin bottle in hand, I follow the low sound of music. The only light on is coming from beneath Wyatt’s bedroom door. I tiptoe past, eager to leave him to his stewing. The party is hard to locate at first, taking me on a tour through the house. There’s no one about, but evidence of empty beer bottles lining the kitchen island. They really did start early, and I have some catching up to do.

I realize the music is coming from the garage. Slipping out onto the back porch, I inch towards the back garage entrance, not trusting the paparazzi not to climb the fence for a photo opportunity. I’m sure seeing me creeping around in my robe would make a front cover somewhere.

Pushing open the door, darkness and music drags me inside. Some type of plastic crinkles beneath my feet, the cars and bikes nowhere to be seen. I can sense those moving about inside, shadows waiting to pounce. A thrill of excitement runs through me. The door is closed and light suddenly flicks on, but not the usual one. UV bulbs flicker, soon revealing four beautifully crafted bodies in white boxers. Our underwear illuminates, as do the smiles closing in. Huxley, with his shaggy blond hair and mischievous grin, catches my attention first.

“Hey,” I beam. I fall into his arms, forgetting the rest of our company for a moment. A wealth of emotion hits me, and a weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying suddenly lifts. Huxley is out of his room and joining in again. He kisses my head.

“I won’t stay long, but I wanted to try for you.” I beam up at him. From behind, my robe is untied and peeled down my arms. My fingers linger on Huxley’s hips, the circular pink scar just below his collarbone dull in the current lighting. If I didn’t search for it, I could almost convince myself it wasn’t there and I didn’t owe this man my life. As it stands, I’m well aware of those facts and I can’t help seeking out his comfort. My lips press over his heart, leaving a tender kiss there before I’m turned in a slow circle.

“We need to finish getting you ready,” Axel says, his voice barely audible over the music. A Spotify mix of old school pop leaks from Bluetooth speakers, anything with a baseline really. Axel holds up a bottle of neon pink paint, shaking it suggestively. A grin splits across my face as the pieces start to fall into place. He nudges Dax, who’s absently bobbing his head to the beat. AKA, drunk out of the other side of his face. It must have been a rough week for him.

Dax, ever the gentleman, reaches out a hand to steady me as Huxley steps back and I lose my leaning post. “Careful,” he teases, his blue eyes twinkling. There are hands and chiseled abs everywhere, surrounding me. Garrett wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me towards a bench covered in neon paints. Every color imaginable and a handful of paintbrushes. My eyes flicker to the floor and walls, now noticing the plastic sheets covering every available space.

“Ready to get messy?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear.

“Always,” I reply, taking a long swig of gin. Someone plucks the bottle from my grip and replaces it with a bottle of green paint. Dax, with his striking blond hair, is already squeezing out some neon orange paint into his palm. He doesn’t hesitate, playfully smearing a streak of paint across Axel’s chest. Axel visibly shudders and then laughs, a deep, infectious sound that makes my heart skip a beat.

It’s a beautiful sight. The boys are easy, grinning and bumping shoulders. They form a circle around me, each armed with different colors of paint. Garrett, never one to miss an opportunity for theatrics, dips his fingers into the yellow paint and trails them down my arm, leaving a vivid, glowing trail in their wake.

“You look even more beautiful in neon,” he murmurs, his dark eyes intense.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I quip back. Coating my entire hand in green, I slap my palm against his abs. There’s a momentary tensing and then it’s gone, Garrett’s relaxed demeanor returning. I focus on him first, creating a secondary armor to the ink he wears, covering the body he is uncomfortable with. Axel helps, coating Garrett in multicolored handprints alongside mine. In red, I draw a huge heart over his real one. He laughs, the sound blending with the music.

And so it goes. Garrett smears blue paint across Huxley’s tattooed back, and Huxley retaliates with a swipe of orange down Dax’s arm. The brushes come out, but no one is working on a masterpiece. Smears become splashes, streaks of paint flying across bodies and glowing brightly under the blacklights. Dax gets the brunt of the attack as we gang up, flicking paint all over his tanned skin. I’m swept up in the fun of it, so that I don’t sense the shift of attention until they’re all facing me once more. A simple smile sits on each one of their faces.

The brushes are on me then. Soft strokes of bristles, tickling my sides, my thighs, my feet. No patch of skin is left untouched. Heat rises to my cheeks, both from the excitement and the attention of their hungry eyes. Garrett pulls me into a playful dance, spinning me around before dipping me low, making me giggle.

---