Page 110 of Roulette Rodeo
“Morning,” he says, scanning the room. His nose twitches. “Why does it smell like a brothel in here?”
Talon grins, showing all his teeth.
“Ask Shiloh.”
Rafe narrows his eyes, but I can see he’s doing a calculation. He knows what happened, or at least the broad strokes of it. He’sfacial expression is neutral, but I can see the conflict in the root of his eyes. There’s anger there, sure, but maybe there’s a pinch of relief that he’s trying to hide. As he was worried he’d have to be the first one to pop the bubble in this dynamic.
He nods at me, once, and pours his own coffee.
“Is she awake?”
I shake my head.
“Sleeping it off.”
Rafe hums, considering. “We need to talk when she wakes.”
Talon and Crowne both tense a little, but I just nod.
“We will.”
Rafe stares a second longer, then shrugs, letting the moment go. “I’ll be in the office.” He walks out, as silent as a ghost, door clicking shut behind him.
Talon leans over, voice low.
“Think he’s okay?”
I think about it, about the look in Rafe’s eyes, about the way he didn’t look angry or hurt, just… resolved.
“He won’t have much of a choice in the matter,” I confess the obvious cause after the night I had, there’s no way I’m backing out of this.
We finish breakfast in a kind of silence that’s comfortable, even if the air still thrums with tension.
After a while, I stand up, stretch, and grab my coat from the hook by the door.
“Where are you going?” Talon asks, stuffing another piece of bacon in his face.
“Duke needs a walk,” I say, pulling on my boots.
Crowne grins.
“He’s already outside.”
“Perfect,” I say, and step into the cold morning, knowing there’s no other out there for me now but the girl sleepingupstairs.Our new Omega. Little Cherry, who’s about to be the center of our world.
And if we’re lucky, the future we get to build together as a pack is going to be one fucked up hell of a show…
AFTERNOON TENSION WITH THE HATER
~RED~
The first thing that registers is the angle of sunlight—wrong, all wrong for morning.
It's coming from the west, golden and heavy in that way that only happens when the day's already half-spent.
My eyes crack open, squinting against the brightness, and search for the clock on the nightstand.
Two-thirty.
