Page 110 of Theirs to Rule

I rolled over, burrowing deeper into the cocoon of warmth beneath the covers. My half-hearted mumbling was swallowed by the plush pillow that I had yanked over my head. Kage’s laughter cut through the haze of sleep, vibrant and unrestrained. He grabbed the pillow with a firm grip, pulling it away with an exaggerated flourish. The sudden exposure to the cool morning air sent a shiver down my spine, and I let out a small squeal as I tried to cover my face with the blanket. Kage’s laughter only grew louder, a rich, infectious sound that filled the room.

“Is this what I have to look forward to for the next eighty years?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

“Unless I murder you earlier for disturbing my sleep,” I muttered, peeking out from beneath the sheets with narrowed eyes.

“Come on, time to get up. You’re missing out on the best part of the day.”

Before I could respond, the blankets were yanked away with such force that I squealed again, the cold air instantly enveloping me. Kage stood at the end of the bed, his stance wide, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Give them back!” I demanded, my voice a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement. The room felt too large and too empty without the warmth of the blankets.

“Only if you promise to get up without making a fuss.”

“Fine,” I finally conceded, rubbing a hand over my sleep-crusted eyes as I reluctantly swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m up. But I’m not forgiving you till you make me coffee.”

“Already waiting, Rebel.” Kage sauntered out of the room, his footsteps light and carefree. I grumbled under my breath as I dragged myself from the warmth of the bed, the cool morning air brushing against my skin, causing me to shiver involuntarily. I padded after him, the wooden floorboards cold beneath my feet. As I entered the kitchen, I was greeted by the rich, heady aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air.

Kage was already at the coffee machine, his fingers deftly maneuvering around the coffee pot with an almost ritualistic precision. The smell of the dark, roasted beans filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of citrus from a bowl of oranges on the counter.

"Here," he said, handing me a steaming mug. His thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles as I took the mug, the warmth seeping through the ceramic and spreading to my fingers. I took a cautious sip, letting the rich, bold flavor unfurl across my taste buds.

"Okay, you're lucky this is good," I admitted, cradling the mug between my hands and savoring the comforting heat. The kitchen was bathed in soft, golden light from the morning sun filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the polished countertops and gleaming appliances.

I finished my coffee and began to get ready while Kage sat on the sink and watched me. I still couldn’t believe he’d called his mother and told her he wasn’t marrying Daniella. Because of me.

“Um…your mom must not have been happy when you called her last night.”

“Don’t worry about that. She’ll get over it.”

“I doubt it. Because the last time I saw her, she slapped me and then dropped the bomb about?—”

“What the fuck did you just say?” he asked, his voice turning deadly.

Oh shit. I cleared my throat. “Nothing, never mind.”

“Like hell. My mother slapped you while I was out of it in the hospital?”

I winced and nodded. “But she was upset that you were hurt. Frantic.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she was. She doesn’t put a goddamn hand on you. No one does.”

I pressed my hand against his chest. “Okay. She’ll get that now.”

A vein in his temple throbbed. “Oh, you better believe she will.”

He jumped off the counter, pulled out his phone and started dialing.

“Kage—”

“You hit Camille? You fucking slapped her in the hospital?”

I heard the murmur of Moira’s voice on the other line.

“You’re dead to me until you apologize. Until you prove to Camille that she has no reason to fear you or doubt that you will support me being with her one hundred and fifty percent. Even then, I don’t know how long it will be until I can look you in the face again.”

He hung up, and I stared at him, unable to believe he’d acted so swiftly to lay down the law with his mother.

He pointed at me. “She won’t touch you again. And Rebel, if anyone lays a finger on you—and I mean anyone—I want to know about it immediately. You should have told me she hit you a long time ago.”

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