Page 36

“She laced them with an aphrodisiac,” Elias continues. “That’s why you couldn’t sleep for three days after.”

Orin’s quill stills. “That explains… several things.”

A long, heavy beat passes.

Then Silas says, voice dry as bone, “This might be the worst intervention in history.”

The room falls quiet again, the weight of what we’ve compiled stretching between us like a noose.

Because it’s funny now.

Until they show up.

And they will.

Luna

I should have knocked. Honestly, that’s on me. But in my defense, I thought the guys were outside. There’s usually shouting, stomping, or Silas crashing into something to alert me to their existence. And considering this house barely holds the weight of us, there are exactly two bathrooms. No running water. No privacy.

Which is why, when I push open the door without thinking, I walk straight into a scene I can’t unsee.

Orin stands in the middle of the tiny bathtub, half-bent, one hand tipping a chipped metal bucket over his head. Water sluices down his back in slow, lazy rivulets, clinging to the ridges of muscle I had absolutely no idea existed under all those layers of worn shirts and quiet restraint.

He’s all sharp lines and solid weight. His calves alone could crush a person’s dignity. His back is broad, scarred in places like maps to battles no one’s told me about. His ass—

Gods help me, his ass is perfect.

And he’s naked.

Completely, unapologetically naked.

I freeze like an idiot, mouth parted, brain utterly void of anything resembling language. There might be actual drool threatening at the corner of my mouth.

Orin glances over his shoulder, unbothered, like he’s been expecting me all morning. There’s not even a flicker of surprise on his face as he arches one brow, voice maddeningly casual. “Did you need something?”

My lips part. My tongue tries to move.

All I manage is, “Abs.”

It falls out like I’ve never spoken before. Like I’ve forgotten how.

His mouth twitches, slow and deliberate, a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. He turns fully then, shameless, water dripping from his jaw down the line of his chest, not a single inch of him in a hurry to cover up.

“Do you like them?” he asks, voice velvet-smooth, like we’re discussing books or weather instead of me openly staring at his naked body.

My stomach dips violently. My heart is somewhere between my teeth.

I swallow, throat dry. “They’re… fine.”

His smile sharpens, all teeth and understanding. “Fine?”

“Average,” I breathe, and I’m already backing toward the door, heat licking up the back of my neck, too aware of the fact that I haven’t looked away once. “Completely forgettable.”

He takes a deliberate step toward me, still dripping, still impossibly composed. “Not what your eyes are saying, little star.”

I nearly trip over my own feet as I retreat, fumbling for the handle behind me without breaking eye contact—because of course I can’t.

His mouth tips into something dangerous, devastating.