Page 41 of Vengeful Melodies

We don’t answer that.

Because we don’t know.

Bash breaks the silence we had comfortably settled into when the RV door swings open.

“Well, well,” He says under his breath, eyes dragging slow over her. “You clean up nice, sweetheart.”

Dreya steps outside wearing Alix’s hoodie—the same one he shrugged off and draped over her shoulders at the table when we were eating.

Her bare thighs peek out beneath it, bruised and marked, flushed with satisfaction.

She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at us with that same unreadable expression that threatens to drive me insane. Like she already knows she’s our undoing. And maybe she wants to be.

Chapter Sixteen

Dreya

Alix is still asleep in my bed when I slip out, the sheets tangled around his waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest steady in the dim light. Jack’s curled at the foot of the bed, one paw twitching in some dream, his soft snores blending with the quiet hum of the RV.

The taste of Alix’s kiss from earlier still lingers faintly on my lips—warm, intoxicating, like something I could drown in if I let myself. But the pull outside is stronger, humming under my skin until I can’t ignore it.

The midnight air brushes my bare skin as I step down from the RV, Alix’s hoodie swallowing me whole but still leaving my legs bare enough to catch the bite of the night. The sleeves dangle past my fingertips, heavy and warm with the scent of him—pine, leather, and sweat-soaked adrenaline—like he’s still wrapped around me.

I don’t need to look to know they’re watching. I can feel it, thick as stage lights, cutting through the dark.

They’re spread out in a loose triangle at the side of the RV, like wolves staking territory. Takoa leans against the metal siding, arms folded, shadow swallowing half his face. Kaiser’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, posture lazy but eyes razor sharp. Bash stands in the middle, weight on one leg, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth like he’s been holding it there for hours, not bothering to light it. The tip bobs when he talks, but right now, they’re silent.

I can tell they were talking before I stepped out—low, clipped, something that carried more heat than volume. But the second I appear, it dies.

Good.

The gravel shifts and pops beneath my boots as I take my time crossing to them. I don’t rush; I let the air stretch between us until the silence hums. My pulse thrums in my throat, but I bury it beneath a lazy sway of my hips. When I reach the low concrete barrier along the lot, I lower myself onto it like it’s a throne, one leg crossing over the other, the hem of the hoodie sliding up to bare more thigh than it should.

Bash’s eyes track the movement, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, the cigarette still caught between his lips. “That Alix’s hoodie?”

I don’t answer right away. I lean forward, slow, closing the space between us. My hand brushes his chest—whether on purpose or by accident, I let him decide—before slipping into the pocket of his jeans. My fingers curl around cold metal. Bash doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step back.

I pull his lighter free, snap it open with a flick, and bring the flame to the end of his cigarette. It catches instantly, smoke curling up between us. Only then do I pluck it from his mouth and bring it to mine.

The first inhale burns, tasting of tobacco and Bash’s cologne—a faint mix of cedar and something darker. I hold it until my lungs ache, then let it go in a slow exhale that wraps the both of us in a haze.

“It’s mine now,” I murmur, passing it back to him with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

Bash takes it, smirking right back. “Guess he’s not getting that back.”

“Guess not.”

Takoa shifts, his arms uncrossing, eyes raking over me like he’s memorizing every inch. “Careful, little muse,” he says finally, voice low enough to curl around the edges of my spine. “You’re playing with wolves.”

“Then let them bite,” I breathe, letting the words carry a dare. My mouth curves, and I lean forward just enough to close the space between us. “Also, if I am to be your muse, then don’t waste me. Use me. Ruin me. Just don’t fucking forget me.”

The air tightens. Takoa’s jaw flexes. Bash’s smirk fades into something sharper. Kaiser’s head tilts, his gaze narrowing like he’s trying to see past the words and into the pulse beneath them.

Kaiser breaks the silence first, his voice a low hum. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

Bash’s smirk returns, slow and deliberate. “That’s not all she’s got.”

I meet his eyes, refusing to look away. The cigarette between his fingers glows faintly as he takes another drag, but it’s his stare that feels like the real heat.