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

Brantley nods, his eyes on mine. Dark and beautiful. The kind of peace that washes over someone right before a disturbance.

“She said we need to be there for Abel, Brantley. That he won’t survive otherwise.”

His eyes search mine. “What is that crazy girl asking for from her grave?”

My mouth opens then closes. I wipe my clammy hands down the covers. “She wants him to work closely within The Kings. With you three.”

“No.” Brantley shakes his head, looking away from me. I bring my hand up to his cheek and force his eyes on mine. “Brantley, he needs you all. He needs to feel like he belongs somewhere. He needs a close family. Please. He’s—he’s my brother. Please.”

His jaw tightens and I see the exact moment I win. His shoulders sag in defeat. “I’ll run it past Bishop and Nate, but no promises.”

“Thank you.” I sink my knees into the mattress on either side of him, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. “It’s been too long since I’ve tasted your blood in my mouth.” I roll my hips over his erection. “Rectify that, please.”

His mouth curves beneath mine.

I wake up the next morning, stretching my arms over my head while twisting over to see the time. 9:09 a.m. My eyes pop open. I slept in. A lot. I swing my legs over the bed so fast that both Kore and Hades jump slightly.

Brantley walks out of the bathroom, his hair messy in that way I love and his eyes barely open from sleep. His chest is bare, exposing all of my bite marks on his chest.

I pause, and then take the steps needed to reach him. I run the tip of my finger over one mark on his neck, smiling. “I want a tattoo here.”

“Really?” His arm is hooked around my waist, and he turns his head, studying my body. His eyes zero in on something in the same area where my finger is on his neck, right on the other side of my Vitiosis tattoo and below my ear. “Then you’re getting a matching one.”

“Deal.” I hook my arms behind his neck. “Can you come back to bed?”

He kisses me gently, the swell of my lips still fresh from the night before. “I need to run something past you.”

I lower myself back to the soles of my feet. “Okay…”

He gestures to the bed and I slide on top of it, curling my legs beneath my butt. “The Daughters of the Night, we can’t cut the coven off, so I was thinking about granting Ivy and Ophelia the deed to the mansion.”

I pause. “You would do that?” Truth be told, I thought a lot about that coven and what would happen to it now. I wanted someone different to take over, but I knew that was a long shot, since I didn’t actually know anyone who would. Brantley had told me that the likelihood of Frankie being dead was high, but that Alessi was back with her family. Even when so much was going on, Brantley still made sure to check on them because he knew I would want to know.

He glares at me. “You wound me. Truly. Of course I fucking would. For you, I would do just about anything, which is exactly why I never wanted this” —he gestures between our bodies— “to start in the first place, by the way.”

I ignore his whining. “Yes. I think that’s a beautiful idea, and Ophelia and Ivy would truly take care of the people.”

“You forgot you can visit them anytime you want because they’ll be in Riverside.”

“But will we be in Riverside?” I ask. Since VH is in New York, I wasn’t sure what the plan was from here.

He reaches forward and catches my bottom lip with his finger and thumb. “Do you want a house there? We can build one.”

Images flash through my head. Black modernism architecture, a personalized garden that lives throughout the house and leads to an indoor greenhouse. Our house would be everything I’d ever wanted.

“Yes,” I say, pressing my lips to his. “Yes, I want a house there.”

The fact is, I don’t know what happens when you die. Not even for someone who has come painfully close too many times to count. I think death can come in all forms. It can come in a person, like Brantley, or it can come in losing someone you love. Death is the experience you feel when you lose someone you love; pain is just the aftershock.

I never did think too much about the day I would die, and there was a reason for that. Because I didn’t have to think it, I would experience it. But over tiresome months of being with Brantley and going through our troubles and the hurdles we needed to jump, I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter. Because not even death could separate us.