the fae’s wolfish noses are as keen as their ears. Sylas’s scent could easily have lingered on my neck where he placed so many of those searing kisses.
“I—” I start, and don’t know what to say. Should I admit it? Deny it? Why should it matter to August anyway, when he made it clear he didn’t think anything should happen between him and me?
Right now, it appears to matter to him quite a lot. He paces to the counter and back, his eyes still blazing. “It’s fine. You have every right—he has every right—”
With a choked growl, he wheels toward the parlor. “I’ve got to—to look after something.” He barges across the room and throws open the back door. It slams behind him. Through the window, I see his form hunch and lengthen, fur rippling over his brawn. In mere seconds, he’s not a man but a massive ruddy-brown wolf tearing across the field toward the forest.
The mixing bowl teeters on my lap. I grip it before it can topple onto the floor, my pulse stuttering. Does he even want this anymore? Is he abandoning breakfast completely? I don’t understand.
Was he angry with me, because I—
The joy this morning’s encounter left me with drains away, leaving only a pinch of guilt. I don’t know what’s going through August’s head, but he was obviously upset. I never wanted to hurt him.
“Quite the little drama you’ve decided to star in, mite,” Whitt’s voice drawls from the other end of the room.
I startle, nearly falling off my stool. This time, the bowl does slip from my grasp. It thumps on the ground, half the flour mixture jostling out of it in a purplish poof. I scramble to collect the bowl with its remaining contents and spin around. I’d forgotten the other man was in the room.
Whitt ambles by, casting a disparaging glance at the floor. “And what a mess you’ve made in the middle of it. Think you can manage to clean it up?”
I can tell he’s not just talking about the flour. “I didn’t mean— I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble.”
“It’s starting to seem like the stuff follows you. Don’t worry. I’m sure Sylas won’t blame you.” He turns toward the hall.
His tone has stayed light the whole time, somewhere between teasing and needling, but the impression pricks at me that he means his remarks more than he’s showing. Is he angry with me too—because I upset August? Because of Kellan? They never appeared to like each other all that much, but what do I know from two weeks’ observations?
If I’m going to keep any of the peace I’ve started to find in this place, I need all three of the men still ruling over it to at least accept my presence.
“Whitt,” I say, setting the bowl down on the counter. “Wait.”
He swivels partway around and cocks his head. “Why?”
“I—I’m sorry.”
A frown curves his mouth. In that moment, he does look angry. Then it’s gone again, and the breezy tone comes back. “Whatever for?”
I don’t really know. I drag in a breath, searching for an answer, but I’m so uncertain of what he’s bothered about in the first place that anything I say could just as easily be wrong as right. I don’t want to piss him off more.
“Hmm,” he says into my awkward hesitation, and wags a finger at me. “Work on that too.” Then he’s sauntering away, leaving me in the kitchen alone.
There’s still no sign of August. I wait for a few minutes, my stomach knotting, and then I poke around the room until I find a dustpan and a twiggy whisk-broom. I’ve finally managed to sweep the last bits of flour off the floor and am dumping it into the waste bin when footsteps thunder down the spiral staircase beyond the doorway.
“Sylas?” Whitt calls, the note of urgency in his voice so unusual that my nerves jitter. I creep over to the doorway. What’s going on now?
The fae lord emerges from the dining room holding a steaming goblet he must have poured himself while waiting for the breakfast that now might never be coming. He looks as surprised as I am by Whitt’s tone. As Whitt hurries over to him, Sylas studies the other man’s face. “Bad news?”
“I’d call it a decidedly fraught combination,” Whitt says, working in a little wryness despite the apparent emergency. “I’ve gotten word from one of my people that Tristan and his cadre mean to pay us an unexpected visit. At least