Page 26 of The Bastard's Lily
“It did,” I mutter.
Everyoneloses it.
“Getout!” Wren screams like he just won the damn lottery.
Bear’s wheezing. Ridge just chuckles. Even Frost looks up from his damn eggs with an impressed arch of his brow.
Beau blinks between all of us. “So wait. Does that mean Mama’s yourgirlfriendnow?”
Calla opens her mouth. Closes it. Looks at me likeyou answer that, or I will burn this place to the ground.
I just smirk, lean back in my chair, and wrap an arm over the back of her seat. “Something like that, kid.”
I kiss her forehead before she can squirm away again, just to watch her flush all over. Still mine.
“Bathroom,” I mutter as I stand and stretch, neck cracking. “Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”
She flips me off without looking. God, I missed her.
I tug on a shirt as I step into the hallway, rubbing at the ache in my lower back with one hand. Some prospect hovers near the stairs like he’s been working up the nerve to speak to me all morning.
“Rook,” he says under his breath. “You got a sec?”
I glance toward the bathroom, then back to him. “Make it quick.”
He shifts on his feet like a damn toddler about to confess to spilling juice on a rug. “It’s uh—It’s Calla.”
That gets my full attention.
“What about her?” I ask, tone sharpening fast.
“I just…” He lowers his voice even more, like someone might be listening. “Something’s off. She was in the kitchen before you got up. Dropped a glass when I came in. Looked like she’d seen a ghost. Wouldn’t meet my eye. Real twitchy. Then I saw her try to rub something off her wrist before she pulled her sleeve down.”
I narrow my eyes. “You sure?”
He nods. “Yeah. Not like normal morning nerves. Like… she was hiding something.”
I process that for a beat. Every instinct I’ve got prickles. I’ve seen her scared before. I’ve seen her furious, too. But hiding? That’s a different flavor of wrong.
Grimm passes behind us mid-conversation, then halts and backs up like a feral cat smelling drama.
“What’s this?” he drawls, cocking his head. “You makin’ trouble, or just tryin’ real hard to piss me off first thing?”
The kid stiffens, caught between fear and guilt. I toss Grimm a look. “Relax. He’s just runnin’ his mouth.”
Grimm snorts. “Then run it somewhere useful. Clubhouse toilet’s clogged again. Been stewin’ since last night. Grab a plunger and a pair of gloves unless you want pinkeye.”
The prospect visibly pales. “Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m jokin’, Prospect?” Grimm’s smile is pure wolf. “Go make yourself useful before I start thinkin’ you need a different kind of initiation.”
The kid mutters something under his breath and takes off toward the back hall, dragging his boots like a man on death row. Grimm lingers after the kid disappears, arms crossed and mouth twisted in that way that usually means he’s seen something he doesn’t like.
“You ain’t gonna ask me what that was about?” I ask, tilting my head.
He shrugs. “Not my business what whispers get traded in dark corners… unless they start smelling like bullshit.”
I narrow my eyes. “You think the kid’s full of it?”
