14. Sammie

CHAPTER 14

SAMMIE

T hey say the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Lewis is far from my friend. He only tolerates me. Denver is nice enough. But despite everything I have learned and everything that has happened, I trust them. I know they can keep me safe. A temporary alliance is smart.

And surprisingly, I am at home in his house. The thought makes me pause, my hands on my open bag and clothes spread across the bed. I am comfortable with Lewis, but should I not be? Even with his almost hostile behavior toward me, something keeps drawing me to him. Something more than the physical, although that alone would be enough, if I'm honest.

Tossing every last item of clothing onto my bed, I groan. I forgot my underwear and PJs. Heat rushes my neck and face. I can't even comprehend the thought of going without underwear in this house. My gut flips.

I was so exhausted last night; I didn't get to unpacking and passed out on the bed in my jeans and shirt.

Maybe I could borrow a shirt? The sneaky thought worms its way into my brain. It's just a shirt. I'm sure he wouldn't mind?

I turn and walk from my room and down the hall.

I wander through the house, trying each door until I find another bedroom with a large king bed. Work boots sit under a chair by the door, with a flannel jacket draped over the back of it. Denver's room. I close the door and try the next one.

A clean and neat room, but no personal possessions. Spare room? I keep moving through the house. After minutes of walking around the sprawling home, I come across another hall and a set of doors. They seem to have a side of the house each. I try the first one. Bathroom. I try the next.

The second the door cracks open, his scent hits me. Lewis. I freeze in the hall. If I go in, he will know I was in there. My scent will linger on anything I touch. The thought of sleeping in jeans again or one of my own shirts that barely covers my ass propels me into his space.

The room is neat. I expected it. His bed is a king, the same as his brother's. His theme, grey and white. A stack of books sits on one bedside table, a lamp and more books on the other. That side must be his.

My heart rate kicks up. A wooden dresser sits on the wall to my left. It is old and handcrafted. A small silver bowl sits on top. There is nothing in it. Minimalist. Figures. I grip the two handles and slide the drawer open. Socks, boxer briefs, and a set of wooden boxes are nestled to one side. A set of three—small, medium, and large.

Guilt pangs at my chest for being in his space and opening drawers. I slam the drawer shut and pull open the next one. T-shirts and neatly folded jeans.

Bingo.

After plucking a light-blue shirt from the top, I close the drawer and turn back the way I came. A full-length mirror rests against the opposite wall. I hurry out of the room, closing the door behind me. Now to the bathroom Denver showed me last night.

After wandering through the house for half an hour, admiring the library toward the southern end of the building, the sunroom, and the oversized second living room with the most enormous TV I have ever seen, I reach the large bathroom.

The marble is so clean, it rivals the long wall of mirror above the double vanity. Everything is modern and immaculately clean. I dump the T-shirt on the vanity and close the door. A white claw-foot tub with silver feet sits in one corner. It's practically calling my name.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and place it on the vanity by the T-shirt. Excited for a long, hot bath, I pry my jeans from my hips, losing them to the floor. The button-down shirt goes next, hitting the marble. I run my hands through my curls, loosening them. I pad to the bath and turn the vintage-style chrome knobs. Water pours into the bath.

My phone pings.

I wander over and pick it up. Serena.

You okay, girl? Did you find a place?

Hey, I'm good. Found a place and it's safe. You okay?

Yeah. Miss you lots, though. Hopefully this blows over soon and you can come home.

I hope so too.

Not that I am in a hurry to do anything but take a long, steaming, amazing bath. I drop the phone back to the vanity and go back to the bath. It's almost half-full already. I look around for soap or something to wash with. In the shower, hanging in a chrome caddy is shampoo, conditioner, and something resembling lavender body wash.

I pull open the glass door to the shower and gather all three in my arms. I sit the hair products on the floor at one end of the bath and pour a generous amount of the lavender body wash into the running water. Fragrant lavender fills the room, mixing with the curling steam rising from the bath. Perfect.

I step into the bath. It's hot. Hissing as I lower myself into the water, I lie back and prop my head on the end of the bath, turning the water off with my toes. It's absolutely delicious. I wave a hand over the waterline, and it sways.

Holding both hands over the bubbles, palms down, I curl my fingers inward. The water ripples toward me. Using the opposite motion, I send a wave away. I swirl one hand in an upward motion. A small bubble-filled funnel rises. I still my hand and it falls back down.

I close my eyes and sigh. I needed this. Vampires, shadow witches, the Council's demons, college workload, a social life... When did everything get so complicated? I let my muscles relax, moaning as my body unwinds from days of being wound up and ready to spin like a top.

I stay in the tub until it turns cold. With hunger eating at my stomach, I stand and grab a towel from the rack by the bath. Moments later, I am dry, and I pull on the T-shirt. Thankfully, it hangs mid-thigh. A much better decision than using one of my own shorter T-shirts.

Even with the brothers not home, it would still feel weird walking around their home with my naked ass for all to see. I should be here by myself for at least three days; that's the plan. The material is soft, and the scent of Lewis launches hundreds of butterflies from the deepest depths of my gut.

Trying to focus on my hunger, I make my way to the kitchen with my phone in hand. I beeline to the fridge. I rest my phone on the island in the center of the kitchen. The double-doored chrome beast is full. How can two people whose primary food source is blood need this much food? Did they put this here for me? I think back to last night's dinner. Maybe, maybe not.

I grab eggs and cheese and bell pepper, turn around, and set them on the counter before spinning around to hunt for more. Tomato, garlic, and a jar of caramelized onion come with me next. I close the fridge door with my foot and bundle my ingredients together before starting the search for a bowl and frying pan.

I find everything I need in the large top drawers of the kitchen island. I crack the eggs into the bowl and whisk them. I pull a large knife from the block to my right and cut the tomato and bell pepper. Popping a piece of tomato into my mouth, I grab the chopped ingredients and toss them into the bowl.

I add a teaspoon of the crushed garlic from the jar and season before giving it one last stir. The pan is a heavy copper-based monolith. I put it on the gas stovetop. My phone pings again.

"Your latest invoice . . . "

Ugh, fees are due. I hope my scholarship went through properly. My phone lights up again and Bluetooth brightens, showing a list of available devices.

House speakers CTN

Castleton?

I tap on the name, and my phone vibrates.

Success!

I tap the music app and scroll through my upbeat playlists. I pick my favorite playlist and smile as Taylor's voice floods the house. I whoop and spin around the island, dancing to the vibe of "Gorgeous." I grab a wooden spoon from the utensils pot by the hot plate and sing along. "You're so gorgeous."

Cackling at myself, I drop the spoon back in the pot and move to light the stove. I hesitate, fingers shy of the knob. Fire. I can do fire. I turn the knob so the gas is released. I move the pan to the side. Pushing my shoulders back, I hold my hand in front of me, palms up.

The grounding feeling of warmth growing in my core steadies me. I concentrate on the flame I want to see. The pungent tang of gas increases. It's now or never. I open my eyes, curl my hands, and uncurl them toward the stove with a flick. Flames burst, and I wince. They die down, leaving a neat ring of blue flame.

Oh my god, I did it!

"Yes!" I dance on the spot for a moment before placing the pan over the flame. It stays on and the gas fumes subside.

I did it.

It's the most controlled use of fire I have ever been able to muster. The grin on my face goes from ear to ear. I bob with the music, pouring the egg into the pan. It hisses at me, and I poke a tongue at it. My stomach rumbles as I push the egg around the heat with the spatula, scrambling as I go.

The song changes.

"Don't Blame Me" thunders through the house.

The air turns electric.

I scrape the cooked eggs onto a plate and turn off the stove as I set the pan down. I dig into the hot eggs and shovel a forkful into my mouth. It's hot, but so good. I open the caramelized onion and spoon a generous dollop on top. The fragrance makes my mouth water. I stab a clump of egg onto my fork and swipe it through the onion. The flavor bursts in my mouth, and I moan, gripping the countertop with one hand.

Movement catches my eye from a few feet away. I drag my gaze from the plate. The fork falls from my hand and clatters to the floor.

Taylor keeps singing about love making her me crazy.

Lewis stands, rigid as always, staring with darkened eyes.

My mouth parts, and my breath stills. Heat floods my core, radiating to every inch of my body. I feel crimson cover my neck and face. I grab the T-shirt and pull it around myself.

Lewis tilts his head, his eyes darkening to almost black. Every curve I have is accentuated by the tighter fit. I drop the shirt and fold my arms across my heaving chest. A heartbeat later, he stands in my space. I raise my face to meet his gaze. My thoughts are a muddled, tangled mess.

Useless.

"That's my shirt," he rasps.

This close, I can see the blood bounding in his veins. The tension in every single muscle. How much self-control does it take to be Lewis?

"Yes," I manage to whisper.

I step back.

He steps forward. I hold his gaze. He pushes a stray piece of hair from my face.

"If you wanted clothes, all you had to do was ask, Sunshine."

Sunshine?

"I—"

He presses a finger to my lips with a soft growl. Butterflies in my stomach turn to fire-breathing dragons. My chest heaves, and I let my arms fall to my side. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, dragging his finger over my bottom lip and letting it fall.

I wet my lips with my tongue and touch his jaw with a shaking hand. His eyes snap open and he grabs my wrist, lowering his head. His scorching gaze burns into mine.

"Don't." The word is pure gravel.

I suck a breath through a tiny moan. "Why not?"

He sets his jaw and growls. "Just"—he drops my wrist and steps back—"don't."

A second later, he is gone.

The front door slams.

I stand, fire coursing through my veins. My core is absolute liquid. If I had panties on, they would be soaked through.

Fuck.

I'm so screwed.