Page 44 of The Devil's Canvas

I turn toward the voice. Another guy, taller than the rest, leans casually against the wall like he has all the time in the world. Dark hair, messy in a way that looks too effortless to be accidental. His smirk lingers, widening slightly when I glare at him, like I’m the most interesting thing in the room.

Their stares pin me in place, heavy with something unreadable. Five strangers. Five men who clearly know more than I do about what’s happening to me.

"Owen," he says, his voice similar to Julian’s but flatter. Less emotion, less edge. Like he’s not interested in playing whatever game his brother seems to enjoy.

I grip the hem of my shirt a little tighter. I don’t like that they look so much alike, but they don’t feel alike at all.

To his right, another one sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. Broader, heavier presence, already over this conversation.

"Lucas," he says. He doesn’t smirk like Owen. Doesn’t watch me like he’s weighing my worth. Just looks me over, unimpressed. "Before you ask—no, I’m not the friendly one."

"That would be me."

I turn toward the voice. Another one speaks up, leaning against the chair behind me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I know he’s there.

His grin is easy, unbothered, like this is all some inside joke I’m not in on.

"Seth," he says, flashing a smile like he expects me to remember it. "And don’t let these guys fool you—I’m the favorite."

Lucas scoffs. "No, you just think you’re the favorite."

Seth shrugs. "Same thing."

The tension shifts, not gone, but redirected for half a second. He’s testing me, baiting me, waiting to see if I’ll push back, if I’ll play along.

But before I can decide, another voice cuts through the space—softer than the rest. He’s been watching me the entire time, but not like Lucas or Owen. More neutral, deliberate, like he’s measuring me.

He’s been watching me the entire time, but not like Lucas or Owen. More neutral. More deliberate. More careful. Like he’s waiting to decide something.

A sigh escapes him. "Adrian."

I flick my gaze toward the last one. He stands like he’s part of the background, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. But there’s something sharp in his stillness, something contained.

His voice is low. "Caleb."

No smirk. No reaction. Just a name. A look. And his presence—silent, unmoving—settling into the room.

I take them all in again, pulse steady, expression blank. None of them seem as cold as Damian, but I don’t trust them either.

Owen doesn’t take his eyes off me. Julian’s face, but not Julian.

Lucas exhales, sounding like this has all been a waste of his time. "Alright, now that we all know each other—" he gestures vaguely toward me. "How much do you actually know about the bond?"

I hesitate, grip tightening on the hem of my shirt. "Only what Julian told me." The words feel too thin, too uncertain.

Owen watches me, unreadable, his eyes never leaving mine. "And what is that?"

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to cross my arms again. "That the bond is something I can't control. That it binds our souls or something like that."

Seth—I think it’s Seth—lets out a low laugh, leaning back like this is the most entertaining thing he’s heard all night. "Yeah. Something like that."

My patience snaps. "What the fuck happened tonight?" My voice is sharp, cutting through whatever quiet amusement lingers in the air.

Silence.

A shift. Something unspoken pressing against the space between us.

Owen is the one who answers, his tone matter-of-fact, like he’s explaining something inevitable. "That would be the mate bond. Except on steroids."

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