“What the…?” My brows draw together, and I reach for the edge of my panties, pulling them down slightly to see better.
Tattooed onto my skin is the dagger.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I run my fingers over the intricate design, but it feels like skin. Just skin.
“This isn’t good,” I whimper. “This isn’t good at all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEA
Imove through the house in a perpetual daze, my mind spinning and questions tumbling over one another.
What the fuck happened to the dagger?
Why is it embedded in my skin?
How did it happen?
What will happen to me?
I walk into the dining room, the scent of garlic and simmering meat sauce immediately filling my senses.
Everett stands at the counter, dishing up the spaghetti with his usual efficiency. His broad shoulders tense slightly when he notices me enter. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s pissed that I’ve interrupted his perfect routine or because I’m the one walking in, but I try not to let it faze me.
I have more important things to worry about.
Instinctively, I touch my side, directly over the intricate dagger tattoo.
“Dinner’s served,” he says, his voice rough, as always.
He doesn’t look my way as he slides a plate in front of me, the pasta already covered in a bright-red sauce. The garlic bread isgolden, crisp, and tempting. My mouth waters, and all thoughts of daggers flee.
Everett watches me intently, studying my every move, something unspoken hovering between us.
He doesn’t like me, but he goes out of his way to take care of me—like making sure I’m fed and buying me clothes. His silent, unacknowledged kindness brings an unexpected lump to my throat.
“Looks delicious.” I force a smile, taking a seat at the table.
His eyes narrow suspiciously, but before he can comment, Krystian races into the dining room, his eyes alight with mischief.
“Holy crap. I was seconds away from eating my own hand.” He grins at me and winks. “Or Thea, though I’m not sure she’s ready for that.”
“Um, is this topic up for discussion?” I ask innocently, twirling spaghetti around my fork.
“Of course,” Krystian replies at the same moment Everett bites out, “No.”
Zaid and Rafe enter as well and claim seats on either side of Krystian, leaving the space beside me for Everett.
Zaid smiles tentatively. “I swear Everett would be a gourmet chef if he didn’t have to hunt down monsters.”
Everett rolls his eyes, but… Is that a blush staining his cheeks?
I squint, certain I’m imagining things, and Everett glowers at me. “Eat your damn food, and stop staring at me like a damn creeper.”
Rafe peers down at his plate with an intensity that’s borderline unnerving. It’s like he’s mentally dissecting the meal. Or maybe planning something—like shoving the noodles up Everett’s asshole, something I would pay to see.
