Page 3 of Riot of Autumn

“I’d want to fly,” Ezra says while rubbing Axil’s ears and jaw in hello.

“Lame.”

“Why is that lame?”

Ezra plops down on my couch, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and making himself at home. I head to my bedroom to gather some pajamas, ignoring his question for the moment.

“I’m showering.” I don’t bother waiting for a response before shutting my bathroom door.

Shucking off my prom dress, I toss it in the garbage. It was not made to withstand a torrential downpour or a Fae showdown. The satin and lace are ruined. Good thing it only cost me eight dollars.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and cringe. This is not a good look. My violet hair is hanging limply past my shoulders. My lipstick is long gone, but my mascara more than makes up for it with the raccoon eyes. At least it’s not streaming down my cheeks. It looks like I had a damn good time tonight. Too bad only half of the night didn’t suck.

The parts with Ezra.

Nope. Not going there. That door with Ezra has been permanently closed. I’ve set up barricades and padlocked that shit up.

It doesn’t help that all our friends have now magically bonded and are desperately in love with each other. It’s like having a plate full of food placed in front of you when you’re starving, only for the bastard server to tell you it’s only for display. No delicious dinner for you.

I need to eat something.

I don’t take as long in the shower as I want to, because my hunger wins out. Plus, I don’t need any more time to think about what happened in the Fae woods tonight. That shit was insane. The bonding, the fucking bad guys storming in, and everyone throwing around a bunch of magic to fight each other. Yeah, too much time will equal spiraling.

I make quick work of washing my hair and scrubbing the night off my body. Hopping out of the shower, I dry off and get dressed in my loose Wonder Woman tank top and a tiny pair of sleep shorts. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and wonder if I should reconsider my choice. The shorts are so teeny that my ass cheeks practically peek out when I move. And the top, well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I have little boobs, because even I have side cleavage going on.

Whatever, I didn’t ask Ezra to stay. It’s hot out and I want to be comfortable when I finally get to sleep what’s left of this night away.

“Flying is a lame superpower because you could just get on an airplane.”

I run a brush through my hair as I walk out into the living room, picking up the conversation like I didn’t take a shower in between. Axil is snuggled up next to Ezra on the couch and they both look comfy and drowsy.

My home furnishings are sparse. The couch was my grandma Birdie’s, and I refinished the secondhand coffee table myself, painting it a vivid blue. There’s one chair that I bought at a garage sale with big ugly maroon flowers on it, and almost no art on the walls. Which I know is dumb, because I have a whole studio full of paintings going to waste.

“You can also cook your own food. Your argument doesn’t hold up.”

“Okay, prosecutor, but how often would you fly places? I’d use my power every day,” I say as I take my brush back to the bathroom.

“Um, yeah, so would I. I’d fly to work. Then back home again. If I wanted to fly off the island just because, I could. And I wouldn’t have to set foot on a stupid ferry.”

My argument dies on my lips. Ezra’s not the biggest fan of the water. He’ll go out on boats, and I know he can swim, but he doesn’t go for dips in the ocean like Davis does. I’m sure it has something to do with his parents’ deaths, but he’s never talked about it. At this point, it’s been so damn long it feels awkward to come out and ask.

We give each other shit over a lot of things, but Ezra’s water issues are not ones that I will ever touch. Even I have limits. Sometimes.

“I need food. And since a sandwich hasn’t magically appeared while I showered, I guess I have to make it myself.”

“I’d take one,” Ezra says from his spot on the couch, groaning as he stretches out. I do not ogle his abs when he lifts his arms over his head.

“I’ll make you a sandwich if you get down on your knees and beg.” I throw over my shoulder as I walk into the kitchen. It’s a separate small space off the living room. No fancy open concepts here.

“What’s that? You want me on my knees?” Ezra calls out cheerfully from his spot on the couch.

I ignore him, pulling out all the ingredients for the world’s most massive sandwich, and pile on stacks of smoked turkey and cheese on the bread. I consider grilling it, but that sounds like a lot of work. I don’t bother going back out into the living room. I’m too hungry to wait. Standing over the kitchen sink, I take a monster bite.

The groan that comes out of my throat isn’t that loud, but Ezra’s suddenly in the doorway, hands hooked on the frame over his head. The move stretches out all his muscles and his pants dip so fucking low that I see the ridges of muscle that form a vee right down to his dick. Like a giant flashing light sayingeyeballs here.

I barely gulp down my bite without choking.

There’s a smattering of tattoos all over Ezra’s body. Most that he put on himself, but two that I gave him. Those are my favorites.

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