Page 71 of Until the End of Ever
Kleos looked positively baffled, eyes wide. “She’s offering to be my guardian. Cassiopea Regis, myguardian.”
It came as no surprise to me.
After one restless Wednesday night considering the Zenya problem, I decided a drastic move was necessary. Kleos didn’t just need a replacement as a guardian, she needed someone who’d actually take the time to teach her about our city, its traditions, its unspoken rules that I’ve known my whole life. Frankly, she needed a mother, but as hers sucked, she could borrow mine.
“I take it you’ll accept?” I gleaned from her stunned, open mouth.
Instead of answering, she read aloud:“‘It is my understanding that you haven’t been given a chance for a proper introduction to Highvale history, and as such, might find our private customs either strange or daunting. Whether you wish to be moved to my guardianship or not, it would be my privilege to enlighten you on any matter you might find of interest.’Lucian, she’s offering me noble secrets—founders’ secrets!” Kleos squealed. “The kind we can’t just read or hear about.”
I shook my head. The simple fact she was surprised both amused and frustrated me. “Fascinating. I wonder why she might think it necessary.”
Naturally, Kleos missed the heavy dose of sarcasm. “I need to reply. I need to thank her. I need to bake more choux!”
I nodded seriously. “And canelés. Mother would love canelés.”
Never mind the fact that, unlike everyone else by the name of Regis, my mother didn’t have a sweet tooth.
We hadn’t intended to take the weekend off, given the fact that what we were studying was a way to keep my witch alive, whole, and hale, but between Mother’s letter and the constant ringing of Kleos’s phone, dampening her spirit each time she saw Zenya’s name on the screen, it was time for a break.
“There’s a town meeting tonight,” I told her, watching her fly around the kitchen from the doorway. “I meant to speak last week and didn’t get a chance. About the murders—warning everyone to be careful. My parents will be there, if you’d like to accept Mother’s offer in person.”
Kleos’s eyes widened. “A town meeting? Is that like a council session?”
She truly didn’t know much about the underside. “I mean, yes and no. We begin with an open forum for anyone who wishes to speak. Typically, that’s my brother.” I rolled my eyes. “Butafter, it’s mostly a party. The town hall’s open to all who wish to attend, so long as they’re of age. Typically, there’s food, alcohol, music. You can absolutely count on a duel or two. Really, by now, it’s understood that one of the younger foundersmustoffend another to entertain the plebe. It’s all good fun.”
“You mentioned something about it last week.” She tipped her head to the side. “It still sounds archaic.”
“Well, when half of the population was alive back when people still pissed in chamber pots, we can’t be surprised by a few old-fashioned customs.” I smile. “You’ll like the meeting. It’s nothing like your idea of a party up in the vale.”
“I meant to read another volume about that damn ritual, find a way to protect myself against it before next full moon. But…” She sighed.
“We need a break,” I completed for her. “And the full moon isn’t for another three weeks, and my runes haven’t budged since I wrote them.”
Every time my eyes fell on my words on her skin, a satisfying jolt of possessiveness and arousal rumbled inside me.
Mine, mine, mine.
“All right. Let’s go.”
“In a moment,” I purred, suddenly struck anew by a huge oversight. “I don’t think I’ve bent you over the kitchen counter yet.”
I walked up to her, and smoothly ran my hands to the back of her thighs, before lifting her up, her crotch meeting my groin through the clothing I soon discarded.
Mine.
30
KLEOS
“Are you sure I can just show up in jeans? You guys look formal.”
It was the third time I’d bugged Lucian about my outfit, so he only smiled and kissed the back of my hand.
Ronan, seated on the opposite bench, chuckled. “Darling, if you believe Lucian or I own jeans, you don’t know us that well yet. This is as casual as we get.”
Now that I paid attention, Lucian did look a little less regal than usual, in a soft black leather jacket and blue fitted shirt.
“Excuse you, I own jeans,” Lucian protested.
