Page 82 of Bloom in Darkness

I press my mouth to his hair instead of answering, unable to hide the warmth coming through the bond even if I wanted to.

Astra shifts closer, turning far enough to kiss me. When I bite lightly below the fresh mating mark, the kiss breaks into a shiver. A second later he climbs over me, pushing me onto my back as Caelan moves in behind him, slick already warm along his thighs.

Astra reaches back without looking, finds Caelan’s wrist, and pulls until Caelan is pressed against him. For a while, I stop thinking about Silas standing on our porch or the cameras I still want installed.

Afterward Astra lies across both of us, naked except for one sock. Caelan notices first, nudging the covered ankle with his toes. “You lost one.”

Astra looks down at himself like this is surprising information. I find the missing sock under the blankets and hold it up, only for him to toss it out of the nest before settling back against my chest.

I close one hand around his ankle as his breathing starts to slow, one of his hands tangled in Caelan’s sweater.

The cameras still need installing, Silas knows where we live, and Rourke’s threats are sitting in Caelan’s phone, none of it magically gone because Astra finally feels safe enough to sleep. I stay awake a little longer with him against my chest, but I don’t get up to check the windows again.

Caelan

Forrest is twenty minutes into explaining Astra’s debt when I notice the horns taking shape above his head on Astra’s sketchbook, the pencil moving steadily while my brother stands at the far end of the dining table with one hand braced beside a stack of statements.

I lean closer to Astra. “Subtle.”

He shades one horn darker. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Across from us, Bryn reaches for another piece of bacon from Astra’s plate and gets his wrist slapped without Astra ever looking away from the drawing.

The King estate dining room seats twenty comfortably, though Forrest has turned one end of the table into an office. Statements, copied contracts, Night of Scarlet paperwork, three laptops, and a legal pad cover most of the surface. Someone keeps bringing food in from the kitchen because Bryn announced that Astra hadn’t eaten enough before we left.

Lorcan taps one of the statements, finally pulling Astra’s attention away from the drawing. “The original advance exists. So does the medical advance from two years ago and at least one rent advance.”

He slides the paper closer, Astra setting his pencil beside the plate. “Those all have documentation attached.”

Astra studies the documented advances for another second before nodding. “Okay. Those I remember.”

Forrest picks up another page. “This is where it starts getting interesting.”

I rest my hand on the back of Astra’s chair as Forrest taps another line. “You’ve got cancellation fees attached to private bookings we can’t verify existed, plus administrative charges with no supporting invoices.” Turning the page, he slides the next statement toward Astra. “The wardrobe charges are worse. The club appears to have ordered the items, then charged you above retail.”

Astra leans closer, one finger stopping on the wardrobe charges. “The shoes.”

Forrest checks the line. “Probably.”

Astra’s palm presses flat against the page. “The fucking shoes.”

Across from him, Bryn leans farther over the table. “How much?”

“Still working on that,” Forrest says, setting the statement beside the others.

Astra picks up the itemized page. “She made me wear specific shoes. I couldn’t pick cheaper ones. Half the time I didn’t even get to keep them.”

Lorcan makes a note beside the charge. “That matters if you were required to use something you didn’t get to keep.”

Forrest pulls another statement from the stack, turning it around so Astra can read the line marked prior advance adjustment.

Astra reads it twice. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. It appears six times.”

Astra goes still over the statement when Forrest says the same adjustment appears six times, Bryn setting his fork down across from him as the room finally loses the last of its casual breakfast noise.

Lorcan folds his hands on the table. “I don’t want to give you a number yet. We need the club’s complete records before I’m willing to say exactly what’s enforceable.”