Page 22 of Taste of Thorns (The Firestone Academy #3)

Chapter Nineteen

D ray

After our little chat with the Hardies, we agree that it’s far too fucking dangerous to have our little mate giving us the cold shoulder, so with his tail tucked between his legs, my bond brother sets off to make things right with her.

Now, several hours later, he’s back and, judging by the rosiness of her cheeks, I’d say his apology was most definitely accepted.

“Has he made things up to you, Kitten?” I ask, bounding towards her as she shakes off Beau’s coat. “Does that mean you’ll come sit on my face now?”

I recollect a pinkie promise that she would.

“Not yet. I want to show her something first,” Beau says.

“If it’s that fucking ugly rash on your–”

“Shut up, dickhead,” he snaps, then to the kitten he adds, “I don’t have a rash.”

“Then what is it?” I ask. “All the kinky toys you keep locked away under your bed?”

Our thrall peeks at Beaufort again, this time with an arched eyebrow.

“Another time.”

“Wait …” I say, confused, because that is news to me, “what?”

Beaufort winks at me and takes the kitten’s hand, pulling her up the stairs. I bounce along behind them, wanting to know more about Beau’s kink collection.

“Are you saying you do have a suitcase full of that kind of shit, man?”

“I suspect he does,” little Kitten whispers to me.

“It’s not a suitcase, it’s a trunk.”

Briony and me look at each other. “Can we see?” I ask.

What the fuck is in his trunk? Cuffs, whips, chains? I’m hard just thinking about it and all the damn possibilities.

“Not now, I’m taking Briony up to the fifth floor.”

My entire face must light up like it’s my birthday. “You’re moving in, Kitten?”

“I haven’t agreed to that.”

“You will when you see the fifth floor,” I promise. “But we got to go get Thorne.”

I snatch her hand in mine and then I’m skidding off to find our reclusive bond brother. He’s been in a mood so black if he were coffee none of us would be sleeping for at least the next year. However, this news should cheer the grouch up.

“Guess what?” I say, bouncing into his room without knocking, pulling Briony along behind me.

Thorne’s lying out on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling.

“Whatever it is,” he murmurs, “I don’t care.”

“Still going to tell you.” I grin. “We’re going to show Briony the fifth floor.”

He lies there unmoving and I take a hold of the edge of the mattress and jiggle it. “Come on, you don’t want to miss this.”

“Go away,” he says.

“Why are you in such a bad mood anyway?”

He doesn’t say anything, but the little Kitten steps forward.

“Did something happen?” she asks him.

“No,” he says simply, refusing to look at her.

Those green eyes of hers fill with sadness and she steps away, arms wrapping around her body. I’m not surprised. It’s like the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

I don’t like it. He hurt her feelings. If it were safe, I’d punch the dude in the ballsack.

“Don’t be a prick,” I whisper to him. He still doesn’t say anything and I lean towards him despite how much his grouchy magic irritates my skin. “You’re making her sad. Is that what you want?”

“You know it isn’t,” he mumbles.

“Then stop giving her the cold shoulder. It isn’t her fault you’re fucked up.” He turns his head and glares at me, but then he lumbers up onto his feet, and follows us out of his room and up to the fifth floor.

“What the hell is up there?” Kitten asks, unable to contain her curiosity.

“This,” Beaufort says, pushing back the door at the top of the staircase and letting her step through.

The ceiling is slightly lower up here on the top floor, but there are windows in the ceiling, allowing the starlight to pour right down into the room.

Beaufort clicks his fingers, soft lighting flickers on and reveals the layout – different from the floors below.

It’s one large room, with a bathroom off to the side.

There’s one giant bed resting against the far wall and along the opposite are floor-to-ceiling wardrobes probably bigger than the whole of the kitten’s room back in her own tower.

There’s a desk with a chair and in one corner, bookshelves and a small armchair with a little stool to rest her feet on.

The room is decorated in soft feminine colors and it smells of a meadow full of flowers on a spring’s day.

“Did a woman used to live in this room?” she asks, surprised. “I knew this floor existed, but I suspected it was somewhere you worked out, full of weights and training equipment.”

“No,” Beaufort says, “we had it decorated this way. Ready for our thrall.”

She examines the room more closely. “You had it decorated before you picked your thrall? Before you picked me?”

“Yes.”

“If we’d waited, we’d have made it a little less girly to suit your tastes,” I add.

“I like girly,” she says, stepping further inside the room.

“So you like the room, then?” Beaufort asks.

“Of course, how could I not?”

“Go look in those drawers over there,” I tell her.

She gives me a suspicious look and then trots that way, opening the top one. It’s full of underwear – plain, silky, lacy, even frilly. Some in pastels, some in reds and blacks. Fuck, did I have a lot of fun picking out those!

“Did you buy all this ready for your thrall?”

“No, this we got more recently. Once we had a better idea of what you needed.”

She draws one of the camisoles out and holds it up against her body. It’s clearly her size.

“We want to buy you a whole new wardrobe of clothes,” I tell her. “But we thought you might want to choose.”

She gazes down at the camisole for a moment before stuffing it back into the drawer and spinning around to face us.

“You can’t change who I am. I’ll always be this girl from Slate. You can dress me up in all the fancy clothes you like, but it’s going to be obvious to everyone where I’m really from.”

“That isn’t the reason we want to do this, Briony.”

“Really?”

Beaufort stalks towards her, pulling her towards him as she stares back at him with uncertainty.

“You look hot in your uniform. You look fucking amazing in every thing you wear–”

“Especially your birthday suit,” I add with a wink.

“We’re proud to show you off, whatever you’re wearing, Briony. We just thought you might like something new to wear.”

“But if you prefer your old clothes, we can get rid of all the new underwear,” I say with a mischievous smile.

“Nooo,” she says, sheepishly.

“We’re proud of who you are, Kitten, aren’t we?” I say, turning to Thorne. He’s standing silently in the corner, arms hanging by his side, gaze fixed to the ground. I groan. “Hey Kitten, did you know it was Thorne’s idea to add that reading nook to this room? He said you liked books.”

“I love books,” she says, twisting her head around and smiling broadly. “They were like this way of escaping all the doom and gloom back in Slate. That’s whenever I could get my hands on a book.”

“Wolves don’t read. But Thorne here, he reads fuck loads.”

“You do?”

Thorne meets her eyes briefly and nods.

“Let me guess,” she says with a slight tease, “non-fiction books about tactical warfare and manuals on training techniques.”

“Fiction.”

“Oh, what kind?”

“Erm, cozy mysteries.”

Her eyes go wide. “No way.”

“Oh, come on,” Beau says, from behind her, “surely you’ve realized by now, that behind that hard steely shell of his, Thorne’s as soft as melted caramel?”

Thorne snorts and diverts his gaze back to the carpet.

“I think he’s more like one of those clams,” I say. “The ones you have to prize open with a fucking knife, giving you just a glimpse of their soft squidgy interior before they slam shut again, taking the tip of your finger off with them.”

The little Kitten laughs. “That does sound more accurate.”

“I am here,” Thorne mumbles moodily.

“Then stop being a jerk and tell us what’s wrong.”

He keeps his eyes locked downwards. “You know what’s wrong.” This time his voice cracks just a little.

“The trial?” Briony asks gently, looking over at him with genuine concern and affection. People don’t look at Thorne like that. They usually look at him like they’re either scared for their lives or want to climb him like a tree.

“It’s more than that …” He swallows, then slowly meets her eyes. “I should be able to protect you.”

“And who says you can’t protect me?”

“I failed in that moment. I failed you.”

“You didn’t, Thorne.” She hesitates, then goes on.

“It’s happened to me too. I’ve just sort of, I don’t know, shut down like that.

My friend, Clare, you know the smart one?

Her parents are doctors. She said it’s a natural response to trauma.

Fly says it happens to a lot of the soldiers out in Iron. ”

“Yeah, but I’m meant to be different. I’m meant to keep you safe. It’s the only thing I’m good for.”

I open my mouth to speak but then I catch Beaufort’s gaze, one telling me to let the girl speak instead.

“You’re good for a lot more than that, Thorne Cadieux. I enjoy your company. I enjoy it a lot. I like talking with you. And I’ve missed that the last few days. I’ve missed our conversations. I’ve missed you.”

He meets her gaze and for a moment they just stare at one another and I have to concede how hard it must be for the dude, unable to reach out and touch like he must want to.

“I’ll do better,” he says finally. “I won’t let you down again.”

“You didn’t let me down in the first place. And that isn’t how this is going to work,” she says, pointing between the two of them. “This isn’t a one-sided relationship. We’re going to look out for one another. And that includes Fox,” she says, swinging her gaze to me and Beau.

I peer towards Beau but he nods in agreement.

“Okay?” she asks Thorne. “Friends again?”

“Yes, friends again.”

“Good.” She tilts her head and her lips twitch. “Because I think you may also be a useful source of books.”

“Oh, I think he’ll give you all the books you want, Kitten.” I chuckle. “So you gonna move in with us then?”

“I dunno,” she says. “Stars, is it tempting! I bet the Empress herself doesn’t have a room half as nice as this one. But moving in with you all is a big step – a massively humongous one. And I don’t want to desert my friends.”

“At least stay the night tonight,” Beaufort says, dragging her towards him; something catches her eyes as he does. Something on his wrist.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Huh?” Beaufort murmurs, his eyes still transfixed on her.

She takes his hand in hers and examines his wrist. His gaze falls that way too and I step in closer.

“The markings,” she says, running the pads of her thumbs over the faint lines that now curl across Beaufort’s wrist. “You have them too.”

“Shit,” he says, turning her hand over, and pulling up the sleeve of her coat. “Do you have them?”

But little Kitten’s wrist is as smooth and clear as it always was, only the bones and the veins patterning her skin.

“Dray?” Beaufort asks.

They turn towards me and catch me with my wrist right up against my face, scouring my skin.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

“I’m going to take that as a no,” Beaufort says with a grin.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” Briony says.

“I can.” He peers down at his wrist again. “I wonder what it means. Why now?”

“It means, little Kitten is most definitely ours,” I say, sandwiching her between me and my bond brother. “You wanna christen this room and this bed?” I ask, nibbling at her neck.

“Actually,” she says, peering across at Thorne, “what I’d really like is for you to make me another one of those heated chocolate things.”

“Hot chocolate,” Beau corrects, but she just shrugs at him.

“Let’s go then,” I say and soon we’re all descending the staircase together and I have a feeling things between the four of us are fixed.

At least for now.