Page 48 of Heimlock

“After you,” I murmur, smirking.

“That’s what I recall,” she murmurs. She scoots out of my way, but my mouth parts in surprise. Was that a joke about our one-night stand? Because she definitely came first.

When she shoots me a grin full of mischief, sitting in what is normally my chair, something skitters in my pulse. She picks up the hoodie I dropped there earlier and places it in the seat next to her. A silent challenge.

The winged familiars find their designated roosts, with Talia’s fox familiar curled at her feet. Fynn sits at the head of the table, as usual, with Orliana on his right. Joulian on his left. I’m discombobulated because where I’ve sat for over a decade, at the other end of the table, is currently occupied by an orange-headed minx. Talia sits next to Joulian, leaving me to sit on Kyrielle’s right. The chair creaks as I plop down into it.

“That’s my spot,” I whisper.

She takes a sip of her Heimlock, then hisses, “I don’t care.”

Narrowing my eyes, I say, “You should.”

“Why? What will you do if I don’t move?” The challenge in her voice shoots straight to my cock. All sorts of visualizations have me swallowing hard. Everyone at this table would have a conniption if I bent her over to spank her silly.

“You know we can hear you, right?” Fynn says blandly, pouring Orliana wine. On the table are various dishes; they’ve spent all day cooking. Hunger bites at my stomach.

Snatching a roll from a plate, I take a bite. “We’re simply establishing boundaries about where she’ll sit next time.”

“Here,” Kyrielle says primly, also grabbing a roll. She splits it in half and spreads butter on it. Just like at my apartment, she’s inserting herself. My mild sense of irritation blossoms into indignation.

Why?

Why does she insist on needling me?

Who does she think she is?

“No, that’s my spot,” I insist, forgetting our audience. “I’ve sat there for almost fifteen years. I remember the day it was put into this kitchen. It’s my spot.”

“Things can change, Trinte,” she challenges. There’s an underlying meaning to her words, but I refuse to think about it. All I know is that she’s the new one here.

“I don’t like change,” I snap.

“Clearly,” she fires back. “You make it everyone else’s problem when things change.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem if people didn’t act like things can just change without discussion.”

“Is this about the chair?” Talia whispers to Orliana.

“I don’t think so,” Orliana whispers back.

“Well, if some people didn’t avoid conversation like it was Hells’s thirteenth coming, then maybe change wouldn’t be an issue.” Kyrielle’s chest rises and falls rapidly as she glares at me.

The way her face flushes is intoxicating. As much as I want to crush this line of conversation, I also want to continue. Arguing with her is fun. Maddening, but fun.

“Maybe some people don’t like conversations.”

“I remember some people actually enjoying a conversation,” she shoots back, practically snarling.

“Who are they mad at?” Joulian asks.

“Maybe it was a one-time conversation,” I growl back. The fork in my fist bows under the pressure of my grip. This banter isn’t fun anymore. It isn’t the time or place, and now my brother will have questions.

“You’re so fucking insufferable sometimes,” Kyrielle spits out.

“You …” My face contorts with anger, but I can’t find anything mean to say. I’ve been mean enough. Exhaling sharply, I disengage. Take a sip from my beer. Pretend that we weren’t just yelling at one another in front of our family.

She fumes next to me, looking like a flame with her red skin and orange hair. In my orbed eye, I can see her temperature rising by the second. She might actually burst into flames, she’s so mad.