Embrace the Darkness (The Maura Quinn Series Book 1) - Ashley N. Rostek Page 0,39

until morning to tell me. After about six months of being together, he'd stopped bringing it up. Which explained why I'd forgotten.

“What were you dreaming about?” Jamie asked.

“I’d prefer we didn’t make this a big deal,” I deflected before getting the nerve to look at them. Both of them were expressionless—keeping what they were thinking hidden, and I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

“Sorry to ruin the night guys,” I said and got to my feet. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

They both mumbled goodnight as I left the theater.

CHAPTER 13

I woke early the next day and zombied my way downstairs in search of coffee. While rubbing the fog from my eyes, I shuffled into the dining room.

“Good morning,” I heard Stefan say. He was in his usual spot at the head of the table, dressed in an impeccable tailored suit, eating an omelet while scrolling through his iPad. As I took in the rest of the room, I noticed he wasn’t alone. On his left were Jamie and Louie, who were both wearing suits with no ties and their shirt collars unbuttoned. Across from them, sitting to the right of Stefan, were my uncle Conor and my cousin Rourke, both of whom were dressed to impress. You’d have thought I’d walked in on a board meeting instead of breakfast with how sharp they all looked. I wished I could say the same for myself. I was in rumpled clothes I'd slept in and was undoubtedly sporting some major bed head.

Conor and Rourke stood from the table to greet me. Seeing my beloved cousin, I was suddenly energized with excitement. I dashed around the table, barely giving him time to brace himself before I full-body tackled him. We both hit the floor with matching oomphs!

“Ow, you heifer!” Not that I’d ever admit it out loud, but Rourke was my favorite cousin. He never acted superior. My aunt Kiara, Stefan’s younger sister, would choke the life from him if he failed to show a woman respect. During my aunt’s time as Banphrionsa, treatment of women had been at its worst. My grandfather had made my uncle Samuel look like a saint in comparison. He'd used his fists more times than not to ensure obedience, which had resulted in my beautiful grandmother killing herself.

“Who are you calling fat, you cherub-cheeked mama’s boy!” I teased, squishing the sides of his cheeks until his face was smushed together, giving him squinty eyes and fish lips. Using a self-defense move we’d all learned as kids, he fluidly rolled me. The next thing I knew, I was pinned, and he was sticking a wet finger in my ear. I yelped. “Eww, you sick bastard!” Everyone laughed as we continued to wrestle on the floor.

“Let her up, son,” my uncle Conor ordered.

Listening to his father, Rourke released me and got to his feet, then held out his hand to help me to mine. I gratefully accepted and he pulled me from the floor into his arms for a real hug. Rourke was tall like his dad. He towered over me by at least a foot. Despite his last name being Murphy, he had the looks of a Quinn, with light brown hair and green eyes. Thanks to his father, he'd been cursed with freckles. I felt his pain. With the same cluster across his nose, we looked like siblings even though our hair was drastically different.

“It’s been boring without you around,” he said, pulling away. He gave me a devious smile. “I heard you filleted another man’s dic—ow! Damnit!”

I tried to stop him from talking by pinching the underside of his arm. Sadly, I was too late. Enough had been said and I internally groaned at what was undoubtedly coming.

“Blew it to smithereens is more like it,” Louie chimed in, adding fuel to the fire. To be dramatic, he shivered as if trying to shake away the awful memory. Then he looked to Jamie. “Remind me never to piss off Maura.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and returned to eating his breakfast.

“If you keep mutilating penises, people are going to start calling you Dick Crusher or something,” Rourke snickered.

Louie’s boisterous laugh followed before he snapped his fingers, pointing at me. “We should call her The Castrator.”

The whole room erupted with laughter; even Stefan’s shoulders were slightly bouncing.

My uncle shook his head, smiling as he opened his arms to hug me next. “They’re almost thirty years old and they still act like teenagers,” he said, his Irish