Now that I know the story, I come to the conclusion that this room belonged to their mother. It’s confirmed when Merrick makes the slip of calling it the Queen’s Suite. Which is such an amazing honor, but I just don’t feel right wearing her clothes.
I search the closest for something simple to wear the first day but come up empty-handed. When I finally feel like I can’t take the dress anymore, I resign myself to digging through the closet for a second time. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I feel like things have changed in it. The colors are more subtle and not as flashy.
Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I can’t help but think someone cleaned out the entire thing and restocked it to my tastes while I wasn’t awake to see them. I refuse to believe anything else.
Moving towards the back, I find a pair of blue-jeans and a cotton tank top that seem safe enough. This creepy-ass wardrobe is definitely going on the list of stuff the three Zs and I need to have a chat about.
As always, I’m back to thinking of them again.
“Ugh,” I sigh, frustrated with myself.
Walking through the French doors onto the balcony, I find myself staring out into the small city, if it can be called that. Something I’ve learned over the past few days is that the soft glow from their light source in the sky never goes away, so it’s impossible to tell if it’s day or night. I wonder if everyone just keeps their own schedules and sleeps when they're tired. It has to be the case because there’s always people going to and fro. Men, not people, really. Which is another issue all on its own.
I’m supposed to bring glory back to these men, but how are they supposed to repopulate without women? I’m not sure if this will be a problem that I am tasked with later down the road, but I want to do anything I can to help them.
The weirdest sensation has started working its way through me ever since the witch reminded me of who I am. It was buried deep in my subconscious, but when the guys left a few days ago, it started getting worse. There’s an itch underneath my skin that doesn’t seem to want to go away. I’m hoping it’s just nerves and stress, not some mad case of ick or something.
Or it could be something else entirely.
A shudder racks my body and makes me wish the feeling would just stop altogether. It drives me back inside, where I fall face-first into the soft mattress. I don’t bother to strip the new clothes off for two reasons. One, it just requires more energy than I want to expend getting back to my feet. And two, who knows if I’ll get them back. The whole room could shift around while I sleep, and I’ll end up stuck in a dress again. So, instead, I simply close my eyes and try to shut down my thoughts.
What could be hours, but feels like minutes later, I’m jerking upright in bed. Remnants of the nightmare leaving me a sweaty mess tangled in the rich sheets.
“Okay, fuck this,” I say, throwing the bedding back and standing.
The decision has already been made, and I seriously cannot fathom another reason to keep procrastinating the inevitable while avoiding the Zs.
I jerk the main door open wide, and a scream gets lodged in my throat as a figure jumps up from the opposite wall.
“What are you doing?” I ask Zephyr when I can speak again with a hand across my chest trying to calm my racing heart.
He moves until he’s inches from my face. “I wanted to be here just in case you needed anything...or anyone.”
His admission melts my heart, and I almost forget why I started putting the distance between myself and them in the first place as I ask, “How long have you been out here?”
Flicking his arm up, he looks down at an imaginary watch. “Oh, about seventy-ish hours. Give or take.”
I shake my head at his admission, and he captures my chin to hold me still while he says, “Grieving alone sucks. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Stepping fully into his space, I reach up on my toes to press my lips against his cheek. “Thank you. I wasn’t grieving really but thank you. I just needed to process.”
He nods his head but with a disheartened expression. “Can I ask you something, Rubi?”
Anything to erase that frown on his face right now.
“Of course,” I reply quickly.
“Is there a reason why you’ve kissed my brothers and not me?” he asks sullenly.
Instead of removing the frown, it simply deepens, much to my dismay. One would think that his statement alone would be enough of a reason. I mean, come on; I’ve kissed both of his brothers. Apparently, it’s not, because he’s still waiting on an answer.
As much as I’d love to reach up on my toes and press my lips against his instead of his cheek, I don’t.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you. I’m still dealing with a lot of things,” I admit. Which isn’t exactly the truth, but it isn’t a lie either.
Smiling to relieve the sting of rejection, I add, “Besides, it’s not like kissing Zanthus was intentional. He pretty much didn’t give me a choice.”
When his face takes a dark turn, I wonder if I’ve said the right thing.
“You always have a choice,” he all but growls.
This is my first time seeing this intense side of Zephyr. I’m not sure how to respond, but lucky me, I don’t have to. The switch flips back off again, and he’s smiling.
Then comes the real problem. Something about his smile is irresistible. I’m almost saying screw it and throwing morals out of the window when his brothers round the corner. I try to take a step back, but Zephyr reaches out and pulls me closer with a wink. Neither one of them bats an eye at our position.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” Zale starts. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “I’m okay. Just needed some time.”
Zale nods in understanding. “Anyone would. Feel up to leaving the Keep today?”
Already in my heart, I know that I’m going to accept whatever these guys throw at me, but I still hesitate to give my head a chance to catch up.
I smile at the three of them before answering with, “Yes.”
Zanthus looks smug as Zale claps his hands once and says, “Great, let’s go.”
Zephyr and I follow behind the others as they lead us down different corridors. Admiring their backsides while their brother’s hand is in mine is stupid awkward, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
As per usual, my anxiety turns into words. “So why is Zephyr the only one with tattoos?”
Zale and Zephyr laugh as Zanthus flicks a glance over his shoulder that says he knows I’ve been checking them out and answers, “Zephyr spent a lot of time in the human world the past few years. That’s where he acquired their curious desire for markings. Though, I’ll never understand the point of such randomness. He may be alone in that barbaric human custom, but we each wear the honorable markings of our clan, or at least we used to.”
“What happened to them?” I ask curiously, giving his body another once over to see if I missed it in one of the ten times I’ve checked him out.
The corners of his lips pull up. “The witch. Our powers being drained from us started to fade our markings. We were hoping they’d return with our magic.”
“So, I’m the only one with markings now,” Zephyr brags. “Even if they are humanly barbaric.”