Chapter 10
Jenny dragged Xander away before Flynn got the chance to bitch-slap him again. The rest of them wandered out, and there was silence.
Thank god. Flynn’s head was about to explode, his cat was running circles in his brain, and he was moving to Tahiti. Tonight.
He wouldn’t even pack a bag. He fucking hated clothes, anyway. They just got in the way.
He turned to Kira, who was gazing at him in that haughty way she had, eyebrows raised.
Nobody could look down their nose at you like a dragon. They were the snottiest, most egotistical, entitled creatures in all the worlds.
“So, can I show you to your room, your Highness?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop that.”
“Fine,” he said. “Guest rooms are this way.” He couldn’t wait to get her settled someplace where he wasn’t, so he could fucking think.
He led her to the back of the main floor, where there were two bedrooms and a bath. When Flynn, Tank, and their wolf friend Tristan had first squatted in this place after escaping from Alexander Fucking Grant, Tris and Tank had slept down here. Flynn, as the leader, had the master bedroom in the loft.
Now that Tristan was in Idaho with his family, and Tank and Lissa had their own cabin, the place felt empty at night, though Flynn would rather have his claws pulled out one by one than admit it.
“Pick a room,” he said, gesturing. “Nobody’s using either of them.”
“You have this whole cabin to yourself?”
“At the moment,” he said. “It’s not a castle, but I make do. And the damn crew is in and out all the time, even though they have their own places. We use these as guest rooms now.”
She picked the room on the left—Tristan’s old room. When he showed her the bathroom, she whistled.
“Holy shit. This is a castle-worthy bathroom.”
She wasn’t wrong. It was fucking huge, with one of those fancy room-sized showers with a dozen shower heads and steam nozzles, and a jacuzzi tub that could probably fit four normal-sized humans. Flynn’s bathroom, upstairs, was even bigger.
“It was built by a billionaire,” he told her. “This was his hunting cabin. Alexander Grant.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But isn’t he the one who…”
“Captured and tortured us?” Flynn stared her down.
“Yeah.”
“That’s him.”
“You’re living in one of Alexander Grant’s houses?”
“It’s mine now. I own it.”
“Still. That’s…”
“Crazy? Fucked up?”
She narrowed her eyes speculatively. “Interesting.”
Flynn shrugged. “He wasn’t using it, after we put his sorry ass in jail. And he had a kickass liquor collection. It was worth it just for that.”
She was still looking at him like she could see inside his brain. It was unsettling. “There’s towels and shit,” he said. “Toothpaste. Help yourself. I’m going to bed. I’m going to get drunk first, so if you need anything, I probably won’t hear you.”
He knew he was being rude. Didn’t fucking care. All of his instincts and early training were screaming at him to bow his head and do whatever the hell she wanted.
Never going to happen. Flynn bowed to no one.
He turned to leave. As he reached the door, she said, “Why did you tell them I’m your mate?”
He had no fucking idea. It had just come out. Maybe because of Tank and Lissa’s news, making him think about mates and families? More cubs for the crew… He should be happy about that, but the thought just made him tired.
More responsibility. More chaos. More love swirling all around him, and none of it really touching him.
Not that he wanted it to. If he was going to be a decent alpha, he needed to keep his head on straight. He couldn’t be all gooey over mates and cubs and shit.
“Technically, you are my mate,” he said. “We’re handfasted.”
“Yeah.” She perched one hip on the vanity. “About that…”
He turned to face her. Big mistake. She looked beautiful. Lean and taut, almost like a lioness, with a big cat’s restless energy. Her hair was still bound up, but wavy strands had come down in the rain and framed her face, softening it and making her eyes look even bigger.
Her mouth was wide and mobile, the lips full. His body was flooded by the memories of kissing her; every place she’d touched him suddenly pulsed with need.
He had to shut it down.
He folded his arms, putting on his alpha mantle. “I’m not talking about that tonight.”
“Flynn—”
“Jesus fuck, woman, at least give me until the morning. It’s two a.m., and I’ve been shot, fallen off a fire escape, bitch-slapped a panther, and learned one of my crew is having a cub. I’m done for tonight.”
He stalked out before his cat talked him into something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
Except, if he was going to regret it, why did walking away hurt so bad?
He made it as far as the living room, and only had to stop himself from turning back twice.
He hated that feeling—the one that pulled him toward her and screamed at him to do anything that would make her happy. He didn’t even know if the feeling was genuine—it could just as well have been the damn magical link between them, making him feel things that weren’t real so he’d fulfill his so-called duty.
The Draken Kings of Al-Maddeiri, manipulating him from beyond the grave. Fuck them. What kind of person bonded a twelve-year-old boy with an unbreakable oath, and made him promise away the rest of his life? So that they could be saved?
And what kind of person came back from the dead after twenty fucking years and tried to hold him to it?
He had one foot on the staircase when a shadow stepped out of the kitchen.
Jasmin.
He glared at her. “Seriously? Can’t this wait until morning?”
“No.”
She ignored the fact that he was pissed off. She always did. Although Tank was his best friend in the crew, in some ways he and Jaz understood each other better than any of them.
The rest of them were soft-hearted, deep down—even Sloan, who’d been a professional sniper for Shifter Special Ops. Flynn and Jaz had been raised hard, clawed their way out of places where they had no one but themselves to lean on or to trust. They never gave up, never gave in. They refused to break.
That’s why they were the least fucked up of all of Alexander Grant’s fucked-up escapees.
He sometimes wondered if his alpha mojo worked on Jaz at all, or if she just pretended it did out of respect.
He sighed. “Well, what then?”
“That bullet hole.” She indicated his shoulder. “What was that about?”
He shrugged. “Just a little altercation downtown. Got in the way of something that wasn’t about me.”
Jasmin held his gaze, not letting him look away.
“It was about her.” That wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.”
“Who’s after her?”
“Not sure.”
Her eyes glittered in the dark. “Don’t you think you’d better find out?”
“I’m handling it.”
“Uh huh.” She cocked her head. “We had a conversation once, you and I. About getting involved with outsiders’ troubles, and things that you could and couldn’t allow to touch your crew.”
“I make those choices.”
“Don’t pull that alpha shit on me,” Jasmin said. “If you drag trouble down on the crew, it affects all of us. We have cubs here now, and mates. You can’t just fuck with dragons and not tell us.”
“So, after all the trouble you and all your mates brought down on the crew—and which I dragged you out of—you’re not willing to back me?”
Jasmin’s voice softened. “Shit, Flynn, we’ll back you in anything. If you don’t know that by now…” She sighed. “But we can’t back you if we don’t know what’s going down. We have to be prepared, is all I’m saying. So if Kira is bringing trouble down on this crew, you have to tell them. Us. At least give them a chance to get the cubs out of the way.”
“There’s no trouble coming down on anyone tonight,” he said. “And if I see any coming, I’ll give you a heads-up.”
Jasmin nodded. There was a long pause. “So,” she said. “Is she really your mate?”
Shit. He should have gone upstairs while he had the chance. “The fucking dragons said she is.”
“So why is she sleeping down here? She’s hot for you.”
He snorted. “Dragon princesses aren’t hot for anything. They have ice running through their veins.”
“If you say so.” She sounded amused. “I’m with Xander, though. It would do you good to get laid.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. This conversation is done.” Flynn headed for the stairs.
“I could arrange a cage fight for you two. Worked for me and Brody.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Fine. There’s lotion and extra tissues in the linen closet, if you and Mr. Hand are spending quality time together tonight. Or are you just going to hit the shower, so you can skip the cleanup?”
“Fuck you, Jaguar.”
Her laughter followed him up the stairs.
Fucking crew. He was definitely moving to Tahiti.