The Artist Sets The Scene

I'm on the floor, sprawled on my stomach, as I stare at the bedroom door. It's been about fifteen minutes, but it feels like a bloody lifetime. Not that I'm against sprawling—in fact, it's sort of my thing. What's bothering me is the silence; it makes me feel powerless and I hate feeling like that.

Why can't anything be easy anymore?

I sigh and tilt my head slightly, looking up at the snotty aristocrat, who's putting a million tiny braids in my hair. Philomena is kneeling next to me in Gucci lounge wear, almost behaving like a normal person. Mind, that would be a fucking wealthy normal person, but at least she's not spouting off like a drunken Hamptonite. But she's doing it to be supportive in her way and I can't help but appreciate it.

That admission and her current behavior would amaze anyone outside of our immediate family. Duchess P isn't known for being emotionally available and she prefers it that way. She only shows this side of her personality at home, where outsiders can't see. Even when the extended mates are about, she puts the fa?ade back on.

It's her method of keeping people at arm's length, and I don't blame her.

"Bloody hell. What the fuck is she doing in there?" Victor pushes off the wall, pacing the hallway frenetically.

I watch him, a heartstring tugging inside of me. There's so much painful history that I wish hadn't happened to him. I wish I hadn't let Wilde hoodwink me into being desperate enough to push him to the brink. I thought it was the only way to let him go without making everything worse. Now, I see what that unusual demand from the faux romantic was about, and I wish I'd told him to fuck off.

Regrets, I have a few.

Caesar looks up from where his head is resting in Sandrine's lap, her fingers twisting his burgundy locks into spirals as she leans against her mate, Leo. Since Lucinda and Dona left, he's been adrift. C's a total submissive, and Lucinda catered to that need. Without someone to fill her role, I'm afraid he's going to fall into a depression we can't pull him out of.

Luckily, Sandrine's a bad ass and Leo doesn't seem to mind her making Caesar feel better. Leo and Caesar are best friends—in fact, Vic and C built Leo for my primary mate when she moved to The Rift. He was the first member of her household and falls staunchly on the ‘droids are better' side. Vic and C program their droids to have a rivalry and it results in prank wars more often than not. It's a bit like having siblings and it's fun most of the time—if they don't get out of hand.

Christ, I miss those days.—we all had so much fun and now it's a constant misery.

Since the extendeds became part of our family, silliness has not been high on the ‘to do' list. In fact, the only things on the list are sex—sometimes good, sometimes not—and painful fights and rivalries. Even without my primary's beast emerging, there's been drama and spite between the three families. It's easier to see what's happening now, though. The demon in Wilde and the dog in Sari have shown their true colors in vivid HD.

"Chill out, mate. She has to let us in someday, right?" Leo says. He's pragmatic and unflappable, which is helpful in a house with so many aggressive dominants. I enjoy being able to depend on him and Caesar helping me balance the rest of them.

The Maison, as our home is called, houses one of the biggest immediate families in The Rift. Our girl has the biggest heart this side of the portal and she made a place where we all feel wanted and loved, even those who were abandoned. Vic and I are the only clones; Leo, Caesar, Sandrine, Hex, Philomena, and Siren are droids. They outnumber Victor and me by a factor of three, but that doesn't bother either of us. We're one of the few households who have a solid mix of both clones and droids living together.

It didn't happen by design; we're just a rainbow of equality.

Droids in the Rift aren't at all like people have described in movies or books. They're a physical copy of templates used for the clones except they have—hell, I don't know—gizmos inside. The entire caste system built around them caused the bloody Conflict and trust me, anti-Company sentiment still runs high in the Resistance.

After my primary and her co-mayors built the Resistance community, most of the droids got built in our workshop out back. Victor and Caesar have carried on the tradition Dona started after she abandoned them. New recruits are invited into the Rift and they place an order with the boys immediately. Sometimes I go out to help with a bit of the artsy parts, like getting faces and eyes right. The bitch goes out to dress the creations to suit their personality. Sandrine and Siren assist with personality and other various programming.

It's a family business now.

Hex snorts from his perch on the railing, bringing me back to reality. He's hanging upside down like a bat: chains, leather, and black chipped nails swing back and forth as he dangles. He's an 80s punk version of our template—all bleached spikes, eyeliner, and spikes. He was one of the first droids to vary widely from the original ‘brothers' template.

My ears perk up as I hear a car start down the long driveway. Every head in the hallway sniffs the air, and Philomena yanks one of my braids. I suppose she wants me to pay attention, although it smells like my other mates are arriving. I tug on a line inside and find it's Alistair, Sari, and Wilde. I strain my hearing, hoping to pick up some of their conversation as they come into the house. It would help me gauge how helpful they will be in getting my Flame out of the sodding bedroom.

I doubt it will be, but hope springs eternal and all the rot.

If Rhea hadn't melted the door closed, I'd be perfectly fine with none of them showing up. Wilde and Sari are on my shit list and though I love Alistair, I don't have the energy to deal with their shit. The cat is out in the universe with that pompous prick. She can take care of herself—mostly—but I worry. Her kind heart wrapped in a hard shell is why our other mates have the power they have.

Their need for power is also why they've landed in our laps tonight. You can bet on that.

Knowing my primary, I figure they're somewhere dangerous, doing something stupid. Deli is still holding the shields up for both of us, which means she's okay. She definitely doesn't want the bird to know our secret. Neither of us wants to admit to anyone what's happened to us behind closed doors. Hell, we can't even talk to each other about it. I hate that she's taking it all on by herself because I know she's draining herself dry, but she won't let me help her.

"How much longer are we going to sit here like idiots in front of this door?" Philomena asks, her long nails and fingers moving through my hair nimbly. She's worried, though most people wouldn't be able to tell.

The fancy droid is sipping her perennially bottomless martini casually, but there's tension in her voice. It occurs to me that her glass is never empty, and she's constantly drinking it. I don't know how she manages it. I think Victor programmed her to be constantly drunk and popping pills. He would find that funny as hell.

I've always wondered how the bodily fluids thing works with the droids, but hell if I want to hear the explanation.

I digress. My point was she called the cavalry, which is why she's curbed her usual biting sarcasm. Philomena suspects a problem that she is not sharing with the group. The thought makes me frown, but I will not ask her what the problem is in front of the ‘guests.'

"Don't get your thong in a twist, woman. She'll come out eventually or we'll bust in. Simple enough." Hex flips himself upright, running his fingers through his heavily gelled spikes as he grins. "I could go find us something to do in the meantime."

"I suggest?—"

I snort. "P, you always suggest getting high as a kite. We don't need to know the rest of that sentence. Besides, I don't think Janus and Roman came with them." Our other family members come bounding up the steps and I shrink back.

I don't mean to, but lately? It's an instinct, not a choice.

"She fused herself in when she came tearing home alone. We're not comfortable breaking in and she won't respond to us," Philomena says, giving them what can only be qualified as a side eye. She holds up her hand before they speak. "Wait. I called you clowns to talk her out. The other two haven't gotten home yet, so don't ask. We don't know what happened or why she showed up solo. You deal with her."

They look at me, and I shrug, tilting my head towards the stairs. "We'll go watch for the others downstairs. Have at it."

Sari looks like she's going to retort, but Wilde shakes his head as Alistair sighs heavily. It's not the first time any of us have had to talk Rhea off a ledge over nothing.

Philomena nods curtly and tugs me to my feet. She motions for me to follow her to the lower level and the rest of the gang file in behind us. I hear cracking mahogany, and Hex swears as we make our way to the living room.

"Bloody hell, that's going to take a week to fix! She couldn't have locked herself in a room that doesn't have a bloody hand carved mahogany door?"

I chuckle. Hex may look like a bad ass punk rocker, but he's got a soul that screams HGTV. Leo's love is food, and the kitchen is his domain, but Hex's is the house. He has every inch of this place furnished and decorated to the nines—even the spare bedrooms. His knack for finding the perfect showroom quality set up to please any person is astounding.

Philomena immediately turns on her heel to head for the living room when we all hear the roar of a motorcycle in the distance. I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Bloody great timing.

The terror twins are back to join this three-ring circus that I call my life. Sighing, I head towards the front porch. The group follows me instinctively. In unknown situations, we move as one. The bike rumbles to a stop at the end of the driveway, and I hear their screams echoing through the night as they dismount.

The gang pushes past me to spill onto the large porch, leaving the others to deal with Rhea. No one calls for the others because involving them would only cause more problems. Our bedroom room is heavily sound proofed, so it's unlikely they will even notice the commotion outside. I've got to see to the cat right now and avoid the rest of my family starting a war.

I don't need their distractions.

"Where the bloody hell do you think you're going? Taurus! You take one more step towards my house and I'll turn your balls into a change purse."

Christ.I can hear that through the door as I'm finding a place to land. This is going to be bad; I can tell. She's at the screeching stage of anger. The edge in her voice and the strain in her aura that I can see from here let me know she means what she says.

Taurus has no clue about the tremendous amount of pressure she's under or how much pain she's in. Like everyone but me, he has no clue that she's holding both of our suffering and blocking it from the rest of the world. He can't understand that I've never—in the entire time I've known her—seen her so broken. I can't fix it for either of us.

My mate is on the edge of cracking like glass under a hammer.

I push my way through the crowd so I can block the high-tempered blokes. In order to avoid re-starting the Conflict, I need to see what's going on. Victor and Hex are immediate worries because they will jump first and bear the burden of consequences later. If I can keep them in line and the people upstairs out of this, we might come through without a fucking free-for-all.

"Everyone… Find a seat, sit still, and watch closely," I murmur, gesturing at the porch furniture. Without the cat to lead, I know I'm the de facto general of our army. I'm not thrilled by the prospect, nor am I comfortable with the position. However, given my rank as primary, they will listen—mostly.

"Was that little display I clutched my stomach through your idea of a get-away lift? Were you actively trying to turn us into a smear on the road or separate our particles in the portal? No, I don't think so because you couldn't see the road past your over-inflated ego."

She leaps off the bike like a panther, stalking across the pavement to catch up to him. This is less than promising. I can smell her beast is prowling in the air. She won't back down and unless he makes a smart move to diffuse this, there is definitely going to be a brawl.

"Next time someone offers to drive? Take them up on it, asshole."

"That's it." Taurus spins around and roars at her. I see his eyes narrow into a glare that could melt ice. He means business—just fucking great. "Shut your gob, you twittering nit. Christ, do you even know how to keep that yammering maw of yours shut for five minutes at a time? What in the buggering hell is your sodding problem?"

Victor pushes past me at the insults, and I shake my head, grabbing his arm hard. Our girl will be pissed if we intervene. The cat enjoys fighting her own battles, especially when she picks them. Jumping in like half-baked heroes will only point her anger in our direction. No one wants that because she's on the brink of losing control on the kitty face. I can feel her rage from here—hell, we all can.

"What's my problem? What's my problem?!"

The spitting hellcat I love closes the gap between them to poke him in the chest. As enraged as she is, I wouldn't be surprised if that's a claw, not a finger. You wouldn't know by Taurus' expression either way, so I can't say for sure.

"You're my fucking problem, you irritating, know-it-all, chauvinistic troglodyte."

He stares at her silently before he pulls a smoke from his duster. His eyebrow arches at her as he lights it, his nonchalance baiting her. "Aww, isn't that cute? Kitten's got herself a thesaurus. That's a big word, puss. At least you used it correctly in a sodding sentence. You get points for that." He inhales, his tone mocking. "If I'm so bloody buggering boorish, why in the fuckinghell did you call me to begin with?"

Her eyes flash and the surge of the beast rising in her crashes through our connection. That rush of primal has everyone on the porch immediately on edge. I turn to the gang again, my expression reassuring them it is still not time to intercede. Looking at my mate again, I watch her prowl back and forth in front of the clone. She's gotta tell him. I know what she should say, but I can't force her to be honest with him or herself.

That's her battle, and it's one I'm not sure she's able to win in her current state.

When she finally speaks, her voice is rife with emotion. "As if you didn't want me to. You got a huge kick out of setting the ‘double dog dare you' bar as high as you could in the club. You pushed me because you knew I'd rise to the bait. After I won, you blasted me for it. There was no praise for a job expertly executed in a way that less than zero people you know could do. Instead, you bitched me out."

She snarls the last sentence a few inches from his face, but he doesn't move. It looks like an old-fashioned standoff, except that you don't know my mate. When she gets quiet like this, it's time to run. I glance at my family, noting that per my request, they're lounging casually on the railings and steps. I can feel the coiled tension among them and I rub my temples, hoping they can curb their instincts.

Otherwise, this is going to get bloody quickly.

Philomena and Siren position themselves close enough to grab Hex. Caesar placed himself between Victor and the other half of the front steps, which I appreciate. Sandrine and Leo are blocking him from vaulting over the railing. They know who the wildcards are. Victor was the first clone my mate fell for and to this day, I believe he rivals all of us in his feelings of protectiveness.

Sometimes, he's the only one who can get through to her.

I was jealous of that in the beginning, but her heart is so big that we all get equal amounts in different ways. That's why she's so bloody special. That thought barely crosses my mind when my loving, special woman reaches up and grabs the smoke out of Taurus' mouth to toss it aside.

"It's about time someone told you how big an ass you are, Mr. ‘Nothing Ever Fucking Bothers Me Because I'm So Superior'. Believe me, I'm the pissed off hellcat to do it!"

His expression goes from smirking to peeved as he watches the cherry arc into the distance. I watch his posture tense as they square off. They both eye one another with anger radiating off them and he snarls, "You didn't do a sodding thing tonight that you didn't bloody well want to do. Not. One. Sodding. Thing. Don't you dare put this shit off on me." He shoves her lightly, and she stumbles backward, her growl reverberating in the air.

That's when I accept that there's no stopping this train. There will be a fight and it will be bloody. I can feel it in my bones.

"Now, out of the bloody blue, you're all Queen of Neurosis about it. What's your fucking damage, woman?"

Checking our connection, I feel that my mate is trying—and failing—to argue with her beast inside. She shakes her head, fighting the change as her features flicker, and I see her dig her claws into her palms. Pain distracts her since the shit with Wilde started and don't think that fact doesn't make my heart hurt.

"You're such a fucking clueless asshole. You couldn't see the truth if it bit you on the ass."

"Actually, puss," he says, drawing out each syllable. His voice is low as he interrupts her, and I know I don't want to hear what he's going to say. It feels like lighting is about to strike. "I saw the truth halfway through his botched bru-ha-ha, and I'll remind you of it for shits and giggles." He leans in, only a hair's breadth from her face, to murmur, "You don't have the stones to play with the big bad."

Her arm jerks up in a blink and she sucker punches him hard enough to break her fist. I feel the shattering of bones along our connection as he goes flying across the lawn and lands on his ass.

Holy shit, she put some stank on that one.

Let me assure you, I did not know she could flatten a clone like that. Whether that force was the fully unleashed beast, magick, or some combination of the two, I don't know. I watch her shake it out. She's clearly healing it while he recovers. I bet she broke his nose.

The crowd behind me inches forward and I hold up a hand, telling them to continue waiting.

I have such a bad feeling about this.