Page 56 of Mortdale

“Having fun?”

We both froze at my husband’s voice, and Arthur immediately shot to his feet, shaking off the haze of the alcohol.

Logan’s eyes traced me from the tip of my head down to my naked feet, which were propped up on the armchair and had caused my nightdress to pull up almost to my knees. Then they narrowed on his friend’s loose, long hair that had a neat, sweet braid in it. The corner of his lip twitched while the ring of gold in his eyes vanished into a cloud of black, forcing Arthur to take a small step back.

I tipped my head back against the armchair to watch Irena behind him, walking towards the door. “You?” I asked, taking a sip of my drink. “Had fun?”

His dark gaze slowly rolled back in my direction, swallowing me whole.

After giving him a quick once-over, I nudged Arthur’s leg with my foot. “Sit down, Art. This isn’t a drill.”

My husband’s eyes snapped to me again, pinning me in place. “Leave,” he ordered, and it had not been for me.

I grabbed onto Arthur’s sleeve just before he left. “Thank you, vampire-man. If you need someone’s bloodline hexed and cursed, knock five times on my door and meow twice,” I said, giving him a wink.

His silver gaze widened, pacing between me and his friend. “You want me dead, witch-woman. Is that what this is?” he whispered in a panic, making me chuckle.

“Art!” Logan barked, making me flinch. “Out.”

The crackling of the fireplace couldn’t drown the sound of the organ contained in my rib cage. I could hear it in my ears, feel it on the tips of my fingers holding the now warm whiskey glass, on the top of my lips, my eyelids—everywhere.

“How did you get in here?” he asked, grabbing a bottle off the cellarette cabinet and filling himself a glass.

“Magic trick.” A hair pin and some persistent whisper-yelling from Arthur telling me to hurry up.

“Don’t call him that.”

“Call him what?”

“He’s Arthur to you.”

Irritation itched at my fingertips. “He’s whatever I want him to be to me.”

He stared at me as if I had put a curse on his entire bloodline—well, logistics aside because neither of us were considering consummating this marriage. “You’re my wife and lady of this house. You will address my men properly.”

“And you’re my husband. Who I seem to share with many,” I said, loudly sipping—slurping—my drink. “You want to talk about laws and rules. Fine.” I gave him a sweet smile. “Let’s start with you, dear husband.”

“How much did you drink?”

“How much did you drink?” I licked my lips, tasting my own stupidity. What was I doing? What was I even saying? “Was she good? Does she taste good?”

Oh my Goddess. It just kept going.

His fingers came under my chin, lifting my attention to his. His thumb brushed the top of my lip, coming up bloodied. “You’re drunk.”

I wiped my nose to the corner of my sleeve. “Maybe just a little.”

“You know I can hurt him for this.”

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, tasting my blood. “If you want to hurt someone, hurt me. I talked him into it.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m very convincing.”

His attention was on my lips as he brought his fingers to my mouth. His thumb slid between my parted lips, brushing over my upper teeth. “You have your chance, then,” he said, bringing his bloodied thumb to his mouth, “to convince me not to hurt him.”

A shiver raked down my limbs when he sucked my blood clean off his skin. “Art’s your oldest friend. You’ll not hurt him. And as far as I know, you three love sharing things.”