I could tell most of them were in deep thought, and our silence was surprisingly comfortable as I let them think about what I’d said. Maybe they would realize how ridiculous all of this was. I couldn’t fault them for being protective, but I had a right to make my own decisions and evaluate my own risks. I mean, hell, it wasn’t like I was even about to just jump right into anything, it’s more the principle.
Says the woman who essentially bent over and begged Blackwell last night to touch her in literally any way, shape, or form.
Man, had I gotten exactly what I had asked for and more. I absolutely loved the brands he left on my skin. So much so that I had chosen to wear a top that showed it off, in part. It was a black corset half-top with a loose transparent long sleeve blouse that showed off my skin, almost like under a veil. Paired with jeans and a pair of kickass stilettos, it was very much showing off the markings that peeked out from where my jeans rested against my hips.
I knew that I wasn’t technically at work tonight, but I didn’t really like to walk around the institute not dressed up fully. At least not in the high traffic areas. I already had somewhat of a soft image because of being human, so there was no need to make myself look even more vulnerable by walking around in hoodies and pajamas.
Plus, this was more fun. Blackwell’s eyes were constantly going towards my hips and then down to my ass, making me feel good about myself. Honestly, I felt a bit hyper under their attention. None of them had denied the shit I’d said earlier, so I had to assume it was true… I had to assume they all felt something.
I was curious to know what Cy thought about the mark on my neck. He still hadn’t mentioned it.
“I don’t like that top.” Amun’s voice was a near growl from next to me. “Or those jeans. I can see everything. I can imagine what you look goddamn naked.”
“Is it good?” I arched a brow, the question slipping out and surprising myself, frankly. He narrowed his eyes, making me smile. “You sound like an old man, Amun.”
It was a teasing comment, but it wasn’t far from the truth.
“Don’t let him use age as an excuse, flower,” Saint hummed and shot Amun a look from my other side. “He just lacks obvious adaptation skills.”
“I also have been asleep for over four hundred years,” Amun leveled, tucking his hands into his athletic pants. “Last time I was around, it was the mid-1600s and women were dressed much differently.”
I tilted my head. “How long exactly have you been alive for?”
Amun offered me a cautious look as Saint chuckled. “Much longer than that.”
“I have no idea why both of you won’t just tell me how old you are.” I scowled as we entered the large dining hall. “It’s not like I’ll be surprised! Clearly you both are older. I mean, I know Saint is practically ancient, and I put up with him—”
“I’m not old.” Saint flashed a smile. “Old connotes an age, flower.”
“So what? You have just always existed?” I arched a brow.
His smile grew into a dangerous one. “Not in this specific form, but is that so hard to believe with all of this wisdom I am brimming with?”
I shook my head at his sarcasm. “That is somehow the most direct and evasive answer I have ever received from you.”
“That’s because—”
Amun didn’t finish his statement because Saint offered a low growl of warning. I looked between the two of them and threw up my hands, walking ahead towards a table near the front of the room, over trying to get answers from them.
The other five grabbed seats, and I stared briefly at the two empty chairs, hating that Razar and Zain weren’t back yet. I knew that he and I needed to talk. As we sat, the staff that was working in the dining hall approached and began to place down plates of whatever was on the menu tonight. Luckily, it wasn’t anything that odd this time—sometimes it was a draw because everyone’s taste here was so different.
I mean, currently in this room alone, there was everything from nightmares that looked essentially like humans to a large centaur-like nightmare in the corner of the room, laughing about something. At least you couldn’t say this place was boring.
It was actually one of the reasons I enjoyed occasional trips into the institute’s busier areas, because you really were reminded by how unique this place was and all of the individuals that were essential to making it function so well. In fact, almost the entire place was run by a set of nightmares that were not valued in most of society, and not just human society either.
Class D nightmares were almost as close to being a human as one could and still be considered a ‘nightmare.’ They didn’t fit into human society, some featuring physical attributes that made them different like scales or a tail, while others had small abilities. None of it, however, was enough to be considered dominant in the nightmare culture. In fact, most of them couldn’t survive successfully in Under because their bloodline was so mixed, most of them rumored to come from pairings of humans and nightmares. Something I personally found beautiful, but of course I was biased.
My brow dipped in realization that if anything ever did come of… whatever this was between me and the guys, any children would probably be Class D nightmares. Something that motivated me even more to keep pushing for them to have a comfortable place in nightmare culture, because I knew it wasn’t worth pushing the humans on. If they couldn’t try to work with those they considered a threat, they weren’t going to work with those that they would deem as less so.
Class D nightmares were very often killed or extremely bullied no matter where they managed to find themselves. So whenever one came here, we welcomed them with open arms. They weren’t powerful enough to go on missions safely, but they served in a myriad of roles in the institute, from daily operations to teams dedicated to improving the public image of nightmares. Here they could have their own families and go about their lives as normal. Something I wished they—and all nightmares, for that matter—could do in the outside world as well.
“Arabella.” A young man with dark eyes drew my attention to where he was putting down a plate in front of me. I flashed him a smile, noticing that he had the most unusual orange, almost sherbet-colored hair, and a set of pointed teeth. I had for sure seen him around a few times, but I had absolutely no idea what his name was.
“Thank you so much,” I offered, but before I could ask his name, Saint let out a vicious sound that had my head snapping to the side, his eyes narrowed on the kid. When I looked back, he was practically running away, making me sigh. Saint’s face snapped back to a pleased expression and he flashed me a charming smile, kissing the side of my head and tapping my plate as if I had forgotten about it.
Psycho.
Sitting between Saint and Amun, my gaze jumped to Blackwell, Damian, and Cy, all of them paying no attention to the food in front of them, instead glaring at the man, who looked absolutely terrified. Hadn’t I literally explained why this was a problem just an hour ago? Then again, I had to admit… I sort of loved that they were acting so territorial and possessive. It was super hot. I couldn’t even be ashamed of that.
“All of you have problems,” I teased.
“He’s going to have a problem if he talks to you again.” Blackwell met my gaze and offered me a serious look.