Page 13 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane

“Will it work?” he asks hopefully.

“No, it won’t.”

He looks crushed. “Well, hell.”

“Oh, fine. If it’ll make you happy.” I stand up and stomp around the room huffily before coming to stand in front of him. “Better?”

A cheerful grin splits his face. He looks up at me, his heart in his eyes. “You’re a kind woman, and I love you, my mate. ”

“Because I stomped for you? Man, you’re easy.”

“Only in part. If I tell you the rest, you really will get stompy on me.” His gaze falls on the table and he tilts his head when he sees the books and notebook. “Am I disturbing you? Were you working?”

“Not disturbing, no. I was planning the wretched Beltane thing that I told you about. It wasn’t late when I got here, but it is getting late now, so I’m tired.”

“Me too, baby. I’ve got a premature death scheduled early tomorrow. I was going to crash on the couch and let you work, but I’ll go. After the other day, I—I wanted to be near you, even if you weren’t here.”

“You can still do that; I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you want to sleep here? With me?” He gives me another unsure look and it makes my heart thump.

“That might be nice, actually.” He looks pleased and squeezes me again. “Are we ready to clock out?”

Giving me a soft kiss, he nods. “Yes, love.” He strips down to his silk boxers, then he wraps his arms around me. Stretching us out on the couch so we’re curled close, he buries his face in my hair with a sigh.

I reach down, grab the blanket, and pull it onto us. “Night, my love.”

“Night, heart of mine.”

Yawning, I murmur, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, beautiful. Mine.”

With that, we both drift off to sleep.

The Stoat, The Witch, and The Cast Iron Bed

RAFE

“Okay, lift!”

My primary frowns, studying the placement in relation to doors, windows, couch area, and other décor. “Hmm… To the left, I think. It’s not centered.”

“For the love of everything unholy woman, this thing weighs a metric ton. Decide before we all end up with hernias.” Leo gives her a dirty look, wiping his brow.

I roll my eyes, knowing full well that droids cannot get hernias and individually, they could probably dead lift a F-150. They’re all so damn dramatic, though, and like me, they love giving her shit.

“She’s right, mate. It’s definitely off-center.”

Every droid in the room gives Hex a scowl of disapproval as we coordinate, lift, and move the wrought iron monstrosity again. It’s not too heavy for us, but itisa pain in the ass and this is taking forever.

“Who let Mr. ‘Flip This House’ come? Between the two of them, we’re going to be moving this sodding thing until we’re all old and gray,” I grumble.

“Again, with the dramatics. Clones donotget old and gray and droids certainly don’t. Jeez, you’re such whiny babies,” my night bloom says with a sigh of irritation. “Come on. It’s not like I can get a moving company here in this weird in-between place. Please?”

The whole group sighs and hefts again, swearing under our breath colorfully enough to make a trucker blush. It’s performative at best, but I know it makesmefeel better.

“I think it’s good now.” She smiles brightly. “Hex, where did you put the linens?”

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