Page 37 of Unmask
Her icy blue eyes narrowed, storm clouds gathering behind them. “What are you doing here, Kreed?” My name on her lips was both a caress and a condemnation, and I felt it in places I’d tried to forget existed.
“He’s having a bad day,” Raine cut in smoothly, appearing at my side as if he’d materialized from thin air. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, shoulders loose with that practiced nonchalance he wore like armor, his tone breezy as if we weren’t all standing in the middle of an emotional land mine. “Thought we’d drop in. You know, for mental health.”
Kaylor didn’t move, didn’t even blink, but I caught the subtle shift in her posture, the way her weight transferred from one foot to the other like she was calculating distances, measuring her chances of getting back inside before either of us could stop her. Her fingers twitched against her arms, a nervous flutter betraying her composure. Then she bit down on her bottom lip, teeth catching the soft pink flesh in an unconscious gesture that had always been my undoing.
God, that habit.The sight of it hit me like a sucker punch to the solar plexus, stealing the air from my lungs and making me forget how to fucking breathe, especially now, when she was looking at me like I was the biggest asshole.
I probably was.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said, studying my face with the intensity of someone trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle.
I stepped forward, my boots heavy against the porch. Not too close, I knew better than to crowd her when she was already spooked, but just enough for her to catch the desperation I couldn’t quite hide when I dropped my voice low and rough. “Little raven…please.”
Her lashes fluttered in response. The word,please, I never said it. Ever. Not to anyone, Kaylor being the only exception. “Fine,” she agreed. “But only if you promise never to lay a hand on one of my friends again.”
The muscle in my cheek jumped as I ground my molars together, fighting the urge to tell her exactly what I thought about her precious friend and his wandering hands. I wasn’t the type to make empty promises, particularly to her. She deserved better than pretty lies and hollow words. “As long as he keeps his hands off you.”
“Kreed.” Her spine straightened as she fixed me with a glare. “I’m not kidding.”
“Neither am I, little raven.” The endearment rolled off my tongue like a confession, completely at odds with the hard line of my shoulders.
She stared at me, her internal debate playing out across her features as she weighed her options, whether to scream, slam the door, or both. Finally, with a soft breath, she stepped back, pulling the door open just wide enough to let Raine and me squeeze past. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Small victories. I’d learned to take them where I could find them.
The warmth inside wrapped around my skin and seeped into my bones after too many nights sleeping rough. As I passed herin the narrow doorway, our bodies nearly brushing, I caught the barest hint of lavender, that soft, clean scent that had haunted my dreams and followed me through countless sleepless nights.
She wrinkled her nose at me. “You need a shower.”
I arched a brow, letting a hint of my old cocky smile ghost across my lips. “Are you offering yours?”
Her glare could have cracked granite, could have stopped a charging bull in its tracks. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as she leveled me with a look that promised swift and painful retribution. “Don’t flirt with me.”
Still, despite the ice in her voice, she turned and headed toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors. Her voice floated back over her shoulder as she added, “Oh, and you’re switching to coffee. It’s time to fucking sober up.”
Raine chuckled behind me. “Yep. We’re definitely staying.”
Kaylor disappeared down the hallway, leaving only the lingering scent of lavender and the soft whir of the coffee pot kicking to life. Raine and I drifted into the family room, and I sank onto the couch, head tipping back, eyes falling shut. For the first time in days, maybe longer, the stiffness in my shoulders loosened. I hovered somewhere between awareness and sleep, clinging to the stillness. Every distant clink from the kitchen, the soft percussion of ceramic against granite, the whisper of cabinet doors opening and closing, settled something in my chest. Every rustle of movement, every sign that she was there, real and safe and within reach, soothed the beast that had been clawing at my insides.
Footsteps padded back toward the room. I didn’t open my eyes, unready to shatter the moment. Across from me, Raine cleared his throat. “He looks like shit,” he muttered.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
“He’s looked better,” Kaylor replied dryly, her voice carrying that particular brand of understated sarcasm. Even with my eyes closed, I could picture her perfectly, arms crossed over her chest in that defensive posture she’d perfected, chin tilted just enough to project that air of unimpressed authority. The coffee maker gurgled and hissed in the background, punctuating her words with mechanical indifference.
“He needs to sober up,” Raine said, his voice dropping to that conspiratorial whisper. “And he can’t do that at home.”
“Why not?” She’d always been direct, cutting straight through bullshit to get to the heart of things. It was one of the things that drew me to her in the first place, the refusal to dance around the truth.
Raine chuckled sourly. “Our father isn’t thrilled with him. Between skipping practices, showing up wasted, and nearly decking a teacher last week, Kreed’s not exactly a poster boy right now.”
“Because of me?” she asked.
“Partly.” Raine’s honesty was brutally efficient. No sugarcoating, no gentle lies to soften the blow. “But mostly because he’s spiraling. You know how Corvos are. We don’t unravel. Not publicly, anyway.” He paused, and the leather groaned softly under his weight. “But he’s unraveling anyway.”
I heard the hitch in her breath, and the sound pierced through the fog of my pretended sleep, and I forced myself to keep my breathing even, my body loose and relaxed against the cushions.
“And you think I can fix that?” Her voice had gone smaller now, rearing those primitive and protective instincts in my chest. She shouldn’t sound lost and fragile.
