Estelle is my family, but family isn’t just blood, I’m learning. It’s also about bond. About soul connections.
We stand there for some time, until I pull away and wipe my eyes.
I need to decompress before I can figure out what to do next. My mind feels clear for the first time since I arrived here, and I’m glad we aren't trapped in dungeon cells anymore. Our lives are still living hell, but at least we have more creature comforts for the time being, and we have each other. A sudden craving for something totally normal seizes me.
"Let's watch a movie," I suggest.
This is the last thing either of them expect, and they both look at me like I've lost my damn mind.
"Come on, guys," I say, sliding off the bed and grabbing their hands to pull them with me. "We can't be serious and brooding all the time. It's not healthy."
Dean chuckles at that, letting me pull him towards the couch. "I can't remember when I last watched something," he says. "It could be… interesting."
Declan sighs and begrudgingly lets me guide him onto the cushion by my side. "Fine. But don't expect me to enjoy it. I fundamentally refuse to enjoy anything about this place."
I take a step closer to him, closing the distance between us, pressing my body against his in ways that light a fire in my gut and definitely get his attention.
"Are you sure there's nothing you could enjoy here?" I ask, surprising myself with such forwardness. Not that I haven't had my flirtations and affairs in the past, but since Estelle died, it was like that part of me died with her. Now… now she's alive, and I'm finally reminded that I'm still alive too.
And for the first time since that night in my bathroom, I'm actually glad of it.
A deep growl rumbles in Declan's chest as he raises his hand to cup my face, our lips inches apart. "Watch it, witch-girl. Or I might take you seriously."
His dark green eyes melt me, and I stop fighting what I've been feeling for both of them since I got here. "I want you to take me seriously," I say, breathless with how badly I want it. And him.
Without another word, his hand slips to cup the back of my head, his fingers twining through my hair as he brings his lips to mine.
I reach behind me, grabbing Dean's hand and guiding it to my waist as Declan's mouth claims mine.
This isn't a kiss that starts slow and builds.
This is a kiss made of fire and desire, a kiss that burns right into the soul.
I feel Dean's chest pressed against my back, Declan's at my front, and when Dean's mouth drops to my neck, I moan into Declan's mouth, fighting my grip on Dean's hand and digging my nails into Declan's back as their passion scorches me until all I feel is them.
We might have stayed that way a thousand years. Time has lost all meaning, but when someone knocks at our door, Dean steps away, creating a draft at my back, and Declan nips at my bottom lip before pulling away, his hand dropping to mine as the door opens.
Sir enters with a cart piled high with covered trays. Dean goes to meet him and Sir hands off three trays before retreating without a word.
Dean sets them on the dresser and lifts off the lids. Steam wafts up from the hot food underneath.
"Bloody oath, you really have upgraded our prison experience," Declan says, whistling at the selection of meats, fruits, and exotic cheeses laid out. He shrugs. "Might as well enjoy it while it lasts."
My body is buzzing with pent up sexual energy, but my stomach rumbles its complaints and I realize how hungry I am. The three of us take a seat on the couch with me in the middle, and I flip on the television as Dean plates our food for us.
Flipping through the channels—which aren't many—I settle on a surprise find. "This is the best version of The Count of Monte Cristo I've ever seen," I tell them, turning up the volume. "You'll love it."
The guys don't speak French, so they rely on subtitles as we settle in to watch as the Count exacts his revenge through meticulous planning after being betrayed and falsely imprisoned. I mentally take notes. Who knows, maybe the Count can offer us a few pointers for surviving our own hell.
When we’ve all finished our food, I set the plates aside and lean into Declan's arms, my head against his chest, and lay my feet on Dean's lap, who takes the opportunity to massage them while Declan drops kisses on my head at random intervals. A warmth fills me, a connection to these two I can't explain, even to myself, but I feel so deeply I know we are inextricably linked.
A pack. They’re my pack now. My family. The knowledge settles something deep inside of me.
“What would it be called?” I ask suddenly.
The brothers turn to me.
“The bakery,” I add. “If you had it, what would you name it?”
They share a look and Dean grins but Declan looks sheepishly away.
“You can tell me,” I assure them.
“We’re undecided,” Dean says, eyes sparkling like he wants to laugh but won’t. “I want to call it Sweet On You but Declan has a better idea.”
I wait but Dean only continues to eye his brother with a teasing grin while Declan stares down at a loose thread in the blanket like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
“Dec,” I prompt, curiosity eating at me now.
Declan glances over at me and there’s a challenge in his dark eyes. “Seriously Dough,” he says in a flat voice.
Like he’s daring me to laugh at him.
The moment he says the words, Dean lets out a snicker.
Declan glares at him. “Your idea isn’t any better, asshole.”
“I know but hearing you make a joke--a pun at that--with that murderous look on your face is just the funniest thing. People will come from all over just to hear you say the name.”
“Fuck off,” Declan says and I press my fingers to my lips as a smile forms.
Dean’s right. Declan’s non-humor with that punny name would be hysterical and now that I’ve pictured it, it’s hard not to laugh.
Declan catches my eye and grumbles, “Not you too.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him quickly, grabbing for his hand. I squeeze it, still trying not to laugh. “But Dean’s right. It’s like one of those restaurants where the staff is mean to you on purpose--for entertainment. You’d be so perfect.”
Declan’s eyes lose some of their heat. “Is that a thing?”
“It’s a thing,” I assure him.
His expression lightens and there’s a new gleam in his eye now. He punches Dean in the shoulder. “That settles it. My idea should win.”
“Uh-huh, we’ll see about that,” Dean says but he’s laughing.
And then Declan is laughing too and then we all are.
It feels good to laugh. Lighter somehow.
Finally, we settle back into the show.
We are halfway through the third episode when someone at the door interrupts us again, and Sir barges in.
Unlike his first visit, he looks ready to snap. I think I've just bargained away bad for worse.
Declan and Dean both tense, Declan's arms tightening around me.
Sir glares at us. "Celeste, the doctor will see you now."
His words make it sound as if I’ve requested an appointment, which I haven’t, but I don’t suppose I have a choice either.