Page 34 of Covenant

While I wait for him to arrive, I text Jackson. I’ve heard from him several times already today, but I can’t help but check in. For so long, he’s been my responsibility. It’s weird not having him in the room next to mine.

Wyatt

How’s it going?

Jackson

Dude, we spoke earlier and it’s not even been a full day yet.

It hasn’t? I rub my forehead. Fuck, he’s right. We only dropped him off this morning. This day has lasted forever. It’s the never-ending piece-of-shit day.

I could write a book about this. It would be two hundred thousand words.

Jackson

But it’s still all good.

Are you okay? I’m not happy about this whole situation.

I snort. Yeah. He made that clear yesterday.

Wyatt

It’s fine.

Jackson

If he hurts you, he’ll answer to me.

My heart warms at his brotherly protectiveness. Like Jackson could do anything to Matthias. He’d get destroyed, but I love that he thinks he could.

Wyatt

You don’t need to worry about that.

He’s a prick, but he won’t hurt me.

After chatting for a few more minutes about his accommodations, which are almost as nice as this fucking house, I hear footsteps stroll down the hall. Hastily putting my phone on the nightstand, I arrange myself on the bed. I’m going for casual, one leg propped up, arm under my head.

If this position also shows off my admittedly poor muscle structure, then so be it. There’s nothing I can do about that now.

Matthias enters, his eyes flashing over me. He blinks and turns away, his expression not shifting an inch. It makes something inside of me shrivel.

He walks to a closet and returns with a new pillowcase, quietly replacing the one with the muddy footprint, giving me no satisfaction.

Asshole.

“I’m taking a shower,” he says.

“I’ve taken one already,” I close my eyes and stretch, groaning overly loudly. I peek from between my lids, but Matthias hasn’t even turned. He’s as cold as fucking stone. “Great jets, by the way. It made it quite pleasurable. All that heat and hard…pressure.”

Matthias stops on the threshold of the bathroom, his muscles bunched under his shirt as he grips the doorframe. I smirk, waiting for him to bite.

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t. I don’t know why I thought he would.

He takes one long, shuddering breath, squares his shoulders, and steps into the bathroom—closing the door behind him with a click.

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