Chapter 28 - Quinn
I don’t even have time to scream. One second I’m trying to get as far away from that stupid bedroom as possible and the next, Kieran’s hand wraps around my wrist.
He doesn’t yank me exactly. It’s more like a possessive pull, his grip steady as he drags me down the stone corridor without a word, saying something about breakfast.
I can barely keep up. The bastard doesn’t even glance back as I stumble in his wake, barefoot and still flustered from the whole naked ambush he orchestrated like some twisted Roman god fresh from his marble pedestal.
“Slow down!” I hiss, trying to dig my heels in, but he doesn’t even flinch. “Kieran, I swear to God—”
“Careful, little red,” he murmurs over his shoulder, his voice too casual. “You’re running low on gods to swear by. Especially in this house.”
“I am not hungry!” I lie, mostly because the thought of being in a room with more people who look like him is a special kind of emotional torture I haven’t trained for.
“Don’t care. You need to eat. You look half-starved.”
“Maybe because I keep getting dragged around like I’m a damn sack of potatoes—”
“You’re louder than a sack of potatoes,” he mutters. “And more difficult.”
I shove at his shoulder, even though it doesn’t do a thing. His grip never loosens, his pace never slows, and that smirk—God, that smirk is still playing at the corner of his mouth.
By the time we reach the dining room, my pulse is racing, and my face is so hot it might as well glow in the dark. The room itself is unfairly majestic—high ceilings, dark stone, wooden beams older than most countries.
A long table dominates the space, and sitting at it, very much relaxed with mugs of something steaming and amused expressions on their too-handsome faces, are his brothers.
Killian is the first to lift his gaze, hair tousled, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos visible along his forearms. He doesn’t bother hiding his grin when he sees me trailing behind Kieran, still flushed, still catching my breath, still mentally screaming. “Well,” he drawls, “isn’t this cozy.”
“Quaint, even,” Kellan adds, his voice lighter. His blond hair is a mess, like he rolled out of bed and never looked back. “Should we give you two a moment?”
I want to vanish, spontaneously combust, sink into the floor and never reappear. All at once.
Instead, I yank my wrist from Kieran’s grip and straighten my spine like I haven’t been dragged across the entire mansion in mild panic. “Do you always greet guests by ambushing them with nudity and forcing them to socialize before caffeine?”
“Only the ones we like,” Kellan says, biting into a slice of something crusty and golden. “You should feel honored.”
Kieran pulls out a chair for me like he’s civilized, like he hasn’t just mentally undressed me, re-dressed me in panic, and then undressed me again in front of his brothers using nothing but smug silence. “Sit,” he orders softly.
I glance at the chair, then look at him. “Is this your thing?” I ask, trying to keep my composure intact in front of the wolves. “Do you enjoy humiliating people over breakfast?”
“Depends on the company.” His hand brushes the top of the chair again. “Sit, Quinn.”
God, the way he says my name; as if it tastes different in his mouth.
I sit because I am tired, and hungry, and if I don’t, I’ll probably scream again, and they’d enjoy that way too much.
The food’s already spread across the table, a mix of meats, breads, and something vaguely resembling eggs. Everything smells suspiciously delicious, which only irritates me more. I reach for the mug Kellan pushes toward me and sip. Coffee. Strong, hot, and perfect.
“See?” Kellan says with a grin, pointing at my mug. “We’re not monsters. Well—” he gestures toward Kieran with a lazy roll of his fingers, “except for him.”
“I heard that,” Kieran mutters, grabbing a slice of bread and tearing it in half.
“You were meant to,” Killian replies, his voice cool and unreadable, though his eyes flick to me more than once. Maybe trying to figure out what I am or why I’m here. Or maybe just enjoying the show.
Kieran’s gaze slants sideways at me as I lift another sip of coffee to my lips. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m recovering from trauma.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Waking up in bed with someone who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space or clothing?” I shoot him a look. “Yes. That bad.”
Kellan whistles low. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” I hiss, glaring at Kieran.
Kieran smirks again, reaching for his own coffee like he’s innocent. “She screamed.”
“She always scream when you walk into a room naked?” Killian asks, raising a brow.
“She’s the first,” Kieran replies, but his eyes don’t leave me. “Usually they’re too speechless to make a sound.”
“I hate you so much,” I mutter, slumping into my seat. I shove a piece of toast into my mouth before I say something worse.
Kieran leans back in his chair, watching me with that same dangerous amusement. “You’re still blushing.”
“I am not!”
Kellan snorts into his drink. “You definitely are.”
Killian just watches me before finally offering a rare smile. “She’s got fire. You’re going to destroy her.”
“No,” Kieran says. “She’s going to survive me.”
I don’t know if that’s a threat, or a promise, or both.
The table goes quiet for a second too long. I focus on the food. On chewing. On not throwing a piece of bacon across the room just to break the tension.
“Do you always keep her in your bed?” Killian asks suddenly, slicing through the silence.
I choke on the coffee, but Kieran doesn’t even blink. “She fell asleep on the couch. She sleeps like she hasn’t in years.”
That silences both brothers, and I clear my throat. “Okay. Well. This has been delightful, really, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to go find a way to disappear forever.”
“No one’s leaving,” Kieran says without looking at me.
I get to my feet and turn away. “Watch me.”
“Quinn.” His voice stops me mid-step. “You’ll get to Thisbe tomorrow, or not at all.”
I pause, turning slowly. “You keep saying that like it’s some massive favor. Like you’re doing me a kindness.”
“I’m not kind,” he says, still calm. Still dangerous. “And this isn’t a favor. It’s the start of your payment.”
The silence that follows as I sit back down is sharp enough to cut skin. I’m starting to understand the rules of this place and the man who wrote them.
And if I want to survive him, I have to play the game. Even if it means letting him win a few rounds.