Page 114 of The Hive Queen

O’Hara and Trent clasp hands with the bloodthirsty smile of one hunter meeting another, while Savannah gives Johannsson a lecherous once-over that leaves him flustered.

Everyone gathers around the table, and Pen is passing out plates when Darius rejoins us.

Washed free of the grime and blood, his skin now shines like polished bronze, and his long, burgundy hair flows down his back in smooth waves. The black sweater he wears stretches at the shoulders, and his charcoal gray slacks ride high enough to reveal his ankles.

He fusses with the cuffs as he strides forward. “Marceau, we need a tailor.”

“We can find one next week.” Marc holds out a plate. “Come get your pizza.”

Darius’s nose crinkles. “Haven’t I been tortured enough?”

Pen flinches, but Marc just takes it in stride. “We’ll go to that hotel restaurant soon. You can clean them out of steak tartare.”

Mayn perks up. “That’s raw, is it not?”

“We can all go,” Pen murmurs. “To celebrate Darius’s return.”

Johannsson turns green. “Do they serve cooked meat, too?”

“Blasphemy,” Darius says, and Mayn nods in agreement.

“As long as there’s booze, I don’t care how cooked the food is.” Trent stuffs half a slice of pizza into his mouth and talks around it. “Vodka neutralizes everything.”

Elizabeth gives him a look of disgust. “I can’t believe I sleep with you.”

Savannah curls one arm around the older woman. “You can sleep with me, babe.”

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Jerry!” Trent calls out.

“I’m not a runner-up, you nasty man,” he calls back. “And someone better bring me a slice of pepperoni!”

“My tiny Thumbelina beckons.” Savannah piles slices onto a plate. “Talk loud while I take care of my baby.”

And here I thought my relationships were complicated. These people hurt my head.

I rub my temples, my headache worsening.

Pen touches my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you need some aspirin?”

“I can get it.” When I start to rise, her hand on my thigh stops me, and I give her a wane smile. “Thank you.”

Standing, she leans over and kisses my temple before hurrying down the hall to the bathroom.

She returns a moment later and hands me two pills, which I swallow with a sip of water.

Amalia props her elbows on the back of the couch and stares at Darius. “So, oh wise ancient warrior, how do we defeat this monster?”

“How many mates has she taken so far?” Darius asks.

“Four, that we know of,” Amalia and I say at the same time.

Darius pulls the pepperoni off his slice of pizza and blots them with a napkin. “And when was the last one taken?”

“Three days ago,” I tell him.

“So we have four days until she mates again.” Darius reaches between the books and pizza boxes to lift the broken spear off the table.

Golden blood still clings to the surface, and he uses a fresh napkin to wipe it clean to study the clear stone.

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