Another text pops up.
Ah, good. I didn’t think of that after Bolan’s revelation. Thank you, Salvatore.
I stare at that message for a bit, mostly at the thank you, and slightly displeased that I’m feeling a little flushed at the praise. I didn’t think that was a kink of mine.
“Anything wrong?”
I shake my head, passing the phone over to Rian so he can read it for himself. He does, then he taps the screen with two fingers, as if thinking about what he wants to say.
“Just ask.” I take a sip of my latte. It’s good. Sweet and creamy, with just the right level of bitter.
“You’re forming a bond group. So you can … ask Mirth to join you. Like, all of you.”
“And you.” My heart thumps a little, as if I’m about to ask him to be exclusive and I’m still just a little uncertain about the answer. An odd reaction because I’ve never wanted to be exclusive in my life. Not sexually, at least. My heart always belonged to Armin and Mirth — as has my soul, apparently. Which explains a lot about my lack of interest in exclusivity. “We need you as well.”
Rian glances out the window. He could be keeping watch for his mother, but I think he’s conflicted in multiple ways right now.
“You love Mirth,” I say.
Rian looks at me sharply, as if I’d made that a question. I hadn’t. Then he nods.
I shrug, taking another sip of coffee. “So what is the issue? Me? The rest of us? Or is it just your long-lost half-brother, Bolan?”
“Was he born with that name? Bolan?”
“No. He was Oliver for the first seventeen years of his life. Ollie Yates.”
“And you’re just Salvatore. No last name either.”
“My birth name never meant anything to me, though I suppose it must be on some early school records. If you wanted to go digging.”
“Your mother was that famous model, Zsa.”
“Murdered by my father. For trying to leave him, I think. My memory is rather hazy about it all. A few months before his past caught up to him. I was seven. Armin and Mirth made me theirs, and I never gave a shit about anything or anyone else.”
Rian blinks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I can’t figure out if you’re a brilliant liar or …”
“Utterly truthful all of the time?”
“Yes.”
“Your nose should tell you.”
“Your essence … cloaks you. And … you smell a bit like Mirth now.”
I raise both eyebrows at that. Because no matter how much I hated doing so, I very deliberately washed Mirth off me before leaving the apartments.
Rian clears his throat. “I think … it might be in the same way I occasionally smell of Mirth now.”
“Soul deep,” I whisper, smiling a little to myself.
“Stronger. On you.”
I shrug. Mirth and I have known and loved each other for two decades. Having sex just formalized and strengthened a bond that already existed.
“And you and Armin?” Rian asks, slightly hesitant.
“On and off. Mostly off.” I smirk at him, already knowing the answer to my next question but wanting to nudge him a little in the direction I think is worrying him. “And you and Armin?”
