I won’t be played with.
Something shutters in Sully’s gaze. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s talk about contracts. Have you drafted one for Mirth yet?”
I know exactly what he’s implying. What he’s heard. Clearly, I’m not the only one who has been doing research this week.
“Does Mirth know all about your little … predilection, Eli?” Sully says, pushing. “That one of your little contract fucks is still hanging around outside this office, waiting to see if —”
“Enough, Sully,” Bolan snaps, standing as effortlessly as he’d slid to the ground.
Sully levels a fierce look at Bolan. “I’m protecting Mirth. If I have to be Lord fucking Savoy, then —”
“Then don’t be,” Mirth says. Her cool, quiet statement instantly blankets all the rising tension in the room. “Don’t be Lord Savoy, Sully.”
Sully’s face falls. His shoulders slump. All the pent-up frustration and burbling anger just drains from him.
My heart pinches in a way I’ve never felt before. At Sully’s devastation, and at Mirth’s cool pronouncement, and at everything she’s rightfully read into his ire.
How is all of this hinging on such a delicate balance?
I believe what I said to Mirth— that Armin’s death was obviously a catalyst. But it’s also obvious that we weren’t all ready to come together, to fully commit to each other, to a bond group. And to our roles within that group.
This is why I had a plan. This is why I wanted a solid foundation. We don’t even know each other. So how are we going to convince Mirth that we can support her in every way she needs?
“Princess …” Bolan reaches for Mirth, but she pivots, perfectly steady on her feet. She easily sidesteps the coffee table, crossing to retrieve her backpack.
“Mirth …” Sully closes his eyes and hangs his head. But he’s utterly deflated, almost flat. Pushed too far out of his comfort zone.
And maybe that’s partly my fault. With the lists and contracts.
Backpack in hand, the urn heavy within it, Mirth turns to take us in with a sweep of violet-hued eyes— which don’t look at any of us at all. Her expression is once again perfectly serene.
A numb sensation slowly spreads through my chest as I stand, buttoning my suit jacket by rote. Is that sensation the absence of Mirth? She’s gathered all her essence tightly again.
Sully stumbles to his feet as if he feels the same— perhaps even more acutely, given how pale his naturally tanned skin has become. “Please. That’s not … that’s not what I meant, Mirth.”
“It’s exactly what you meant, Sully. And it’s perfectly fine. Perfectly understandable, in fact.” She flicks her gaze to me, smiling without exposing her teeth. Without it reaching her eyes. “I apologize again for interrupting you, Lord Hereford. Thank you for indulging my … whims. I’ll leave you to your paperwork.”
Bolan steps forward with that shifter swiftness, touching Mirth’s jaw. Just lightly, but it seems to break her free of the facade she’s pulled around herself like a physical barrier between us and her. The rock star’s eyes glow with his wolf. Her gaze snaps to meet his as he looms over her, like he’s completely ensnared her.
“You know that’s not what Sully meant, Mirth.” Bolan’s voice rumbles through his chest.
All the hair on my arms stands up as Bolan’s innate dominance coils around Mirth.
She bares her teeth at him in a blatant challenge. “It’s too much, Bolan. I’m too much!”
“Which is it?” he asks, darkly intent.
I have no idea where the sullen, belligerent, self-centered rock star has suddenly disappeared to. Even Sully is staring at Bolan as if truly seeing him for the first time.
“What?!”
“We’ll address both those statements, Mirth. Pick which one bothers you the most, and we’ll start there.”
She huffs. “Bolan!”
“We’re not going anywhere. None of us.” His words are low and measured.
“You’re being a bully, Bolan,” Mirth says, her gaze still riveted to him. “I’m allowed to have feelings. I’m allowed time to think. I don’t have to accept —”
