Page 57 of Hellish Fae
“Rhys,” he says with true happiness shining in his inky eyes. His smile pulls hard, revealing that boyish dimple in his cheek.
But the other man, Rhys, he just folds his arms and holds his steely gray eyes on me.
I’m reminded then that my wings are still hidden away, and I could pass as a demon.
Except I don’t feel like I look like one of them, considering how this man is sending me intense death stares.
“She get you in trouble, Krave?” Rhys asks flatly, speaking around me as if I’m not there.
Krave’s smile smolders, but he’s always good at clinging to that false look of humor.
“Only the good kind,” Krave answers mysteriously.
He lies. He’s basically lying to his friend for me.
And I’ve never hated myself more.
Of course I got him in trouble. Our entire lives are just fucking each other’s day up more than it already is. But I guess it is my turn to ruin his life a bit for once.
“I can tell.” That same hard glare trails over my nearly naked body. “Where’s your clothes, fae?” Rhys asks with a hard edge lacing his words.
He clearly knows I’m not one of them.
A solid step sounds through the room, and I feel the heat of Ryke’s body pressing against my back as I stand in the middle of the room and face this man’s brooding hate.
“Is there a fucking problem here?” Ryke growls.
“You’re in my fucking house. If there’s a problem, I will definitely let you know.” Rhys and Ryke’s anger pulses through the room, charged with waiting energy that’s bound to explode.
“Rhys,” Nix puts a hand on Rhy’s shoulder. “We can trust Krave.”
“I trust Krave.” Rhys’s gaze swings to me. “Dark fae born of the fucking Kingdom of Roses, they’re are a different story.”
My palm slides down Ryke’s scars and settles over his drumming heart.
“There’s no problem,” I say in a confident voice, passing everyone in the room a look that I hope means business, coming from a woman wearing nothing more than a few scraps of silk. And gods do I have to look up at them all like a small child lost in the crowed?
Rhys doesn’t seem to hear me at all, and he continues to stare daggers at each of my men—I meanfriends.
“Yeah. Well, let’s grab you some clothes. I get the feeling Krave doesn’t think clearly when you’re prancing around in just your Sunday panties.” Rhys turns abruptly and strides up the dark stairwell.
Sunday panties . . . what does that even mean? Is today Sunday?
Whatever.
My feet skim over the smooth floorboards, and just as I’m about to turn into the darkness, a big hand clamps over my wrist. I shiver in response to his firm touch.
Zaviar searches my eyes. His pretty irises are darker here without much lighting, and it makes his constantly brooding gaze feel . . . dangerous.
I wait for him to speak, but he seems not to know what to say for once.
Which is a miracle in itself.
But I know he wants to go with me. I can feel it in his hesitancy. He doesn’t seem to like the idea of me following a strange man into a dark house.
I normally wouldn’t either, but these men are Krave’s family. And if he trusts them . . . then I do, too, I guess.
I should. I . . . I do.
