Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

“You were the side-piece…”

Silence. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me on top of him forcefully. “Shut up and fuck me.”

I don’t bother searching for Brantley this morning. I figure he’s not telling me the whole story, but I’m also hoping that if there’s something I need to know, he would tell me. I’m pouring granola into my bowl, still wearing his shirt, when Ophelia whistles from the entryway.

“Well, shit.” She chuckles. I turn around to face her as she’s opening the fridge. “You look thoroughly fucked, girlfriend.”

I take a spoonful. “How was The Hunt last night?”

Ophelia sighs, pouring a tall glass of milk and resting the glass against her cheek. “I hope it went well, but I guess only time will tell.”

I pause my chewing, tilting my head. “What does that mean?”

Ophelia opens her mouth, but it’s not her voice that comes through, it’s Frankie’s, bouncing into the kitchen while tugging off her headphones. Judging by the sweat and clothes, I’d say she has just come back from a run.

“Morning!” Frankie smiles sweetly at us both, and I look to Ophelia in question. Frankie is never nice, and definitely not to me.

I don’t answer.

Ivy and Alessi are walking in together next, both already dressed for the day, which only leaves me and Ophelia in our sleeping clothes.

Alessi looks me up and down. “I know you didn’t join in on The Hunt last night, so I’m guessing I missed something.”

I place my bowl on the counter, my cheeks flushed red.

“Do I smell the way you all do? Is that it?” The smell of sweat, earth, and something spicy filled my nostrils the second Ophelia made her appearance this morning.

“Yes, but with blood…” Frankie says, an eyebrow quirked at me. “Hey, no judgment here.”

I empty my bowl and rinse it, placing it inside the dishwasher. A coven of witches who are all synced together. I guess I’m still partially new, so I’m not getting as good of a read on them as they are on me.

“Well, speak for yourself…” Frankie mutters, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

“What? You didn’t?” Ophelia asks, her eyes swinging around to all of them. Obviously, I’m missing something.

“Nope,” Frankie exhales, falling onto one of the barstools with a glass of water gripped in her hand. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not the right match, no matter how often he always finds me.”

“Impossible,” Veronica interrupts, standing at the threshold of where the kitchen meets the main foyer. Her words are for Frankie, but her eyes are on me. “You’re both perfect for each other. Give Samael time.” She uncrosses her arms and tightens the belt of her robe. “He just needs time.”

I try to ignore her as she moves around the kitchen.

“Saint, nice shirt.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, chewing on it softly.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, but I didn’t exactly peg it either. My apologies.”

This is the time I should ask her about their relationship and what it is about. After Frankie saying that Brantley usually goes for older women, I want to know about Veronica and what she is to him. It’s only fair since he seems to fly off the handle by me simply touching another man. I could ask Brantley, but I don’t want to give him the chance to lie to me. It would hurt too much and make me overthink about why he’s lying to me. Mostly, I’m just wanting to get a read on Veronica herself, but she’s not easy to read. I’ve never had this problem; usually people are much easier to analyze, but Veronica has emotional shields strong enough to withstand an apocalypse.

She chuckles slightly, raising her mug to her lips. Something stirs inside of me that knows that chuckle was aimed at me. Not for me. At me. I turn to face her. I snap.

“What are you to Brantley?”

Everyone falls quiet. Even Ophelia has nothing to say.

Veronica takes a long sip of her hot coffee, closing her eyes before opening them onto mine and placing her mug on the counter. “I think that’s something you should ask Brantley.”

“Ask Brantley what?” He walks into the kitchen shirtless but with his running shorts on, oblivious to the way every single one of the women in this room is gawking at him. Or maybe he does know and he just doesn’t care.

I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, annoyed at myself for showing any kind of emotion toward their—whatever it is. Veronica’s eyebrows are raised as if she’s waiting for me to repeat myself. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction, so I head back up to my bedroom. Jealousy burns inside my gut a lot worse than it did yesterday, and I’m sure it has everything to do with the fact we, once again, had sex last night. I knew if I stayed in there any longer, I was going to either embarrass myself further, or worse, expose myself. Back in my bedroom, I find all of my clothes packed up in suitcases at the end of the bed. I sort through the closest one and find some bike shorts and an oversized Nirvana shirt, pairing them with white socks and sneakers. I leave my hair out in natural waves, shoving Brantley’s shirt into the bag I took clothes out of. I should go back down and face him. He’s going to find me anyway and ask what I was talking about. At least now I don’t feel so vulnerable wearing nothing but a shirt.