Page 98 of Hymns of the Broken
I swallow. Hard. My pulse thunders in my throat, every nerve in my body lighting up.
“Riot—”
He’s already in front of me, his hand curling at my waist, fingers dipping under the hem of my shirt just enough to make me shiver. His palm is hot—steady. His eyes search mine, dark and vulnerable in a way that almost undoes me.
“I’m not here to fight him tonight,” he murmurs, voice so low it vibrates right through my bones. “I just want a second with you. No interruptions.”
I look upat him, breath catching, lips parted. My hands curl into his shirt, just needing to feel the solid heat of him.
“You got your second,” I whisper, the words barely a breath, already wishing I’d given him more.
“Not yet,” he whispers—and then he kisses me.
Soft at first, then deeper. Hishand raises to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing along my cheekbone, coaxing my mouth open ashistongue licks in, warm and insistent. His other hand spreads across my lower back, holding me steady, pressing us together.
My fingers find his hair, pulling his hat off, desperate to feel him. Riot groans into my mouth, hands tightening around my waist. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world—like he’s memorizing the shape of my lips, the taste of my tongue, the shudder of my breath.
He pulls back just enough to press his forehead to mine, his voice nothing but rough velvet.
“Just needed to know you want me, too.”
The words knock something loose inside me. I stand there, pulse jumping in my throat asheleans down to kiss the corner of my mouth, and then heads for the door.
“Dinner’s in five, Hellcat. Don’t keep me waiting.”
***
Everyone’s gathered around the table, plates full, banter flying, the long wood table crowded with half-empty drink glasses, napkins balled up, and the glow of the chandelier bouncing off polished marble. The kitchen’s warmth spills into the room, but nothing’s as hot as the rivalry simmering right beside me.
Jasper sits on my left, all calm dominance and barely veiled territorial energy—his body angled toward me, fingers drumming slowly on the table like a warning. Riot’s onmy right, legs sprawled, elbows up, taking up space like he’s always belonged. But his eyes keep drifting to Jasper. And then to me. And back again.
Jace is in the middle of making a crude joke about Ash’s inability to beat him at Mario Kart when a sharp knock interrupts the room.
Jasper stands silent, and strides out—shoulders tight, jaw locked.
“I swear,” Ash mutters, “if it’s the damn pizza guy, we’re kidnapping him. Jasper’s fridge is full of ingredients, and I am not here to play ‘Iron Chef: Vegas’—”
The sound of the door swinging open cuts him off.
And then—
Heels. Sharp, strutting heels click over the marble like gunfire, echoing down the hallway.
“Goddamn, did this place come with its own vampire coven or is this just Jasper’s version of an Airbnb?”
I gasp, twisting in my chair just in time to see Macee come waltzing into the dining room—movie star sunglasses, red lipstick, hair curled into waves, phone tucked under her arm, every inch a queen in a room full of rockstars.
“Macee?” I squeak, my chair scraping back as I bolt to my feet.
She holds her arms open wide, perfume swirling around her like armor. “There she is. My traumatized little art goblin.”
I crash into her, arms thrown around her shoulders, holding her so tight she staggers back a step and laughs. Her hug is warm, grounding, everything I didn’t know I was starving for.
In the background, I hear Ash saying, “Definitely not the pizza guy.” There’s a smack, which I assume is Jace hitting Ash’s arm.
“What are you doing here?” I breathe, tears stinging my eyes. I’ve missed her.
She pulls back just enough to give me her signature smirk. “Your broody boyfriend over there flew me out. Said you could use a little backup.”
