Page 89 of Scornful

Morning light filters through the window of Geirolf's room onto our bed, a reminder that we have to buck up and face the day.

He's already on guard duty—has been since four a.m.

It’s the fourth day of lockdown, and we're all starting to feel it.

Kids are getting restless, adults are on edge, and somewhere out there, the Patriot is still planning his next move.

I stretch, muscles aching from sleeping on this lumpy mattress.

I really need to convince Geirolf we need to get a new one. He’s probably had this thing since he prospected with the club.

Ew… I wish I didn’t think that.

But waking up in Geirolf's space, surrounded by his scent, makes it worth it. At least we’re safe, and we’re together.

The smell of his leather and cologne clings to the sheets, reminding me of last night when he held me close, his arms creating a protective shield around me.

The distant sound of children's laughter pulls me from my thoughts.

It’s Halloween and today's the day we've been planning for, the one bright spot in this nightmare we're living.

The kids deserve some normalcy, even if it's stuck between these four walls.

I pull on jeans and one of Geirolf's t-shirts—a black Harley one that hangs on me, hitting mid-thigh.

Everyone knows about us now anyway, might as well be comfortable.

I head into his ensuite bathroom, my reflection in his small mirror shows how exhausted I am.

I wish I could stay in bed all day, but I can’t. We have to make this day special for the kids.

The main room is already busy as hell when I emerge from our room.

Halloween decorations are covering every surface, even more so than they were a couple of weeks ago.

It’s like they threw up more Halloween stuff while I was sleeping, but they honestly could have for the kids.

Plastic skeletons now dangle from the ceiling, carved pumpkins line the bar.

Orange and black streamers twist from the overhead beams.

Someone's even managed to rig up a smoke machine in the corner, creating an eerie fog effect.

"Morning, honey." Mom appears at my elbow, handing me a mug of blessed caffeine. She's wearing an orange sweater with a bedazzled black cat on it—festive but practical. "Sleep okay?"

"As well as anyone can on those mattresses," I admit, taking a grateful sip.

The coffee's strong enough to wake the dead, just how I need it.

She smiles knowingly. "I'm sure the company helped."

Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't deny it. "Where do you need me?"

"Kitchen first. We're making Halloween treats with the kids later, but I need help planning the party schedule." She glances around the room, where children are already racing around in various states of dress.

Little Zayder has his Superman cape on backwards, while Tove toddles after him in a princess dress. "Lord knows we need to keep them occupied."

I follow her to the kitchen, where Starla's already organizing supplies.

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