31. On Three

The green paint of Three's bedroom door is weathered and worn, with patches of bare wood showing underneath. It brings back vivid memories. Whatever happened to Mara on Foghar, he was the instigator. He took her as a lover, and she disappeared. What if he's planning to do the same to me?

After One's rejection, and Two's salacious proposal, I'm almost tempted to let him try.

I knock on the worn and peeling wood, feeling a bit run-down, too.

I should be in bed right now.

Three comes to the door wearing his full uniform and his iridescent mask. He cocks his head to the side and peers behind me like he's wondering what's going on.

"Hi. One said I should train with you today?" I say, suddenly feeling faint.

He opens the door wide with a loose grin on his face. Come in.

I dip my head under his outstretched arm and walk inside. But instead of a regular bedroom, I find an art studio on the other side. The bed I saw the other day is now tucked in a corner, and an easel towers in the center of the room.

A series of half-finished portraits are stacked against the wall on one side, and an array of painting supplies are scattered over the desk next to the easel. Three kicks off his boots and motions for me to sit on the green velvet chaise lounge in the middle of the room.

I obey and tap a mindless beat on my thighs to chase off the nerves.

The third brother's silence has never been quite so unnerving as this. Our previous encounters have always been short—if memorable. He doesn't look at all in a hurry to explain his intentions.

Instead, he shrugs off his black jacket and dumps it on the back of his desk chair. The white button-down shirt he's wearing underneath softens his somber look. He peruses the brushes and tubes on his desk as he cuffs up his sleeves above his elbows.

"How am I supposed to learn if you can't speak? According to everyone, fantasies are the hardest."

He peels off his mask, and I hold my breath. I've kissed both of his twin brothers, but Three's…different. He's got iridescent irises, long lashes, and shadows flicker over his skin like a dark fire burns inside of him—barely contained.

While I gawk, speechless, he installs a fresh canvas on the easel between us and glances up at me.

I sink my nails into the velvety cushions. "Wait a minute. Do you want to paint me?"

Three bites his bottom lip in a sheepish manner. Yes.

He mixes the paint on his palette, his white shirt barely hiding the planes of his chest. He looks…younger, somehow, though I don't know how that could be. Long strands of jet black hair fall haphazardly around his face.

"Is it really necessary?"

The corners of his mouth curl up, and warmth radiates through his colorful, shimmering gaze. Humor me.

"Don't you need more light to paint? I mean, it's awfully dark in here…"

Asking a shadow knight if he needs more light is probably in my top five dumbest questions, but I can't help myself. I feel…defenseless in front of Three. How can I argue with someone who doesn't speak? How can I hang on to my pride when words can't come between us?

After a minute, he motions me forward. Come and see for yourself.

I've only been posing for a few minutes, and he skipped the sketching part and went right to painting, so I don't know what I expect.

Three painted textures and shadows, but somehow, I can see myself within them. My eyes glaze over, and suddenly, the blotch of paint isn't so abstract anymore. Lines rise out of the canvas and draw a couple locked in a passionate embrace.

I look back at the couch, where a version of myself and One are now kissing, our bodies far too exposed for me not to blush.

I bite back a mix between a growl and a moan. "Alright, alright. I get it. I dream about One. I fantasize about him. You guys don't have to act so smug?—"

Three's light chuckle rumbles down my neck. He waves his hand at the fleshed-out fantasy, and the couple melts into human-sized shadows. The couch shifts into a hay mannequin, and the shadows reshape themselves into lifelike copies of Cece and me. The fantasy version of me draws the crossbow at the target. The bolt flies directly for its center before fantasy-Nell hands the crossbow to my little sister.

With a hand pressed to my chest, I watch my shadow self give Cece an archery lesson, and my heart gives a long, forlorn thud.

Cece. My fearless little sister.

Three squints at the daydream, and my chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. This snippet of fantasy was stolen from a foreign place in my subconscious. I haven't let myself speak the words aloud—or even thought about it in a structured way—but I desire it beyond reason.

To have Cece by my side, learning with me and sharing stories about our day… It's selfish and unattainable, but I think she'd love it here. She wouldn't have to water down her spark to fit in, or worry about what people think.

Tears mist my vision, and Three presses his nose to mine softly. He takes my hands in his and entwines our fingers. The touch is unexpected. Intimate.

We look at my fantasy together, and Three embraces me the way a dancer embraces his partner, our fingers still entwined. He's so tall that the top of my head grazes the underside of his chin, and I can't help but sigh at his closeness. If only One was so brazen in his affections.

But again, in the shadows of Three's art studio, the differences between them aren't quite as clear. These cats certainly look identical in the dark, and I have to concentrate not to spin around in his embrace and touch the angle of his jaw.

He slips a hand under my shirt, his palm flat against my belly as he presses me to him. I want you.

My entire body tingles with warmth, and I spin in his arms. His hands settle on my waist, and he flicks his gaze to my lips, patiently awaiting my answer.

My heart pounds harder for each breath, the temptation to accept his offer as drugging as Fae wine. He inches closer, and a searing heat radiates between my thighs.

I raise a hand to his full, sensuous lips, the shape of them identical to One's. "What happened to Mara?" I ask. "What did you do to her? Did you feed from her, too?"

His eyes dance. Maybe.

My mind flashes back to the shape of his ass as he moved in and out of her, and envy cramps my gut. "Is that what you intend to do to me?"

He kisses each of my fingers slowly before pressing his lips to my pulse point. You're different. Precious.

"I don't understand," I say.

Three crushes me to him without an ounce of shame, his hardness pressing into me. "I'm hard for you, kitten. I want to worship your body until you scream my name. I want to feel your walls pulse around my cock and defile you in ways you've never even dreamed of."

I shiver at the secret, raspy quality of his voice. "I—" The familiar pet name throws me for a loop, and my brows pull together. "Kitten?"

His eyes reflect only one color in the darkness. Solid gold.

"One?" I whisper, tracing the shape of his mouth.

His lips twitch.

Three might just be using his magic to feed into my fantasy, but I don't know… It feels real. And the third brother has never spoken out loud before. According to everyone, Three is mute.

I link my hands behind his neck and sneak my fingertips below the collar of his button-down shirt. "Kiss me again."