15. Mari

Chapter fifteen

Mari

" N o, I'm not ready to sleep yet," Aaron whines. He went from happy, exuberant drunk to whiny, clingy drunk quicker than I would have expected, given his size.

I know now why his wife—partner, I'm unsure what to call her—kicked him out for the night. This dude never shuts the fuck up.

At first, it was funny. He spilled all the beans about Soren. About his childhood, about his many, many short-term girlfriends. Then came the waterworks. Soren and I have been babysitting this asshole for hours now while he flings himself around the house like a child.

"Brother, come, I have a room made up for you. Irie just needed some space tonight. That's it. All will be well in the morning," Soren says, clasping his brother on the shoulder, pleading in his gaze.

"What would you know about it?" Aaron flicks Soren's hand off his shoulder. "You don't have any kids or a wife." His mouth is soft from booze, emphasizing the F in wife and sending droplets of spit onto Soren's face.

Soren wipes the spit off and keeps his expression stoic.

How many ogres and humans does it take to subdue a hammered Aaron? The answer is more than we're working with currently.

I walk over to the lumbering beast, now swaying on his heels.

"Look, buddy," I say in the most agreeable voice I can muster without laughing. "Insulting your brother isn't helping. How about you try to sleep, and in the morning, you can go home freshly rested to your spouse, who loves you?"

"How do you know she loves me?" Tears well in his eyes once more. "She kicked me out." He throws his face into his hands. His massive shoulders bounce with uncontrolled sobs.

"Hey, bud, it's okay." I throw a tentative arm around the whaling mythological warrior. "She just wants some time to prepare and might be introverted. People—well, beings, I guess—who are introverts need alone time to recharge; it has nothing to do with you. It's what their minds need to feel calm again, which is the opposite of you. Being around people probably brings you energy. Right? So, remember that when she says she needs space. It's just her recharging, like fueling a fire."

His sobs ease, and he tilts his face up to me, wet from his tears."You really think so?" he asks, a little optimism in his tone.

"I do, and if you remember this in the morning, I hope you put it to use. If you give her space before she's completely overwhelmed, she might not kick you out of the house."

He's sitting up straight now, wiping the tears from his eyes. Who knew ogres could be such drama queens? It's been years since I've had to deal with weepy drunks.

I glance past Aaron and find Soren in the kitchen watching us, arms crossed, brows lifted. Like he's confused and maybe a little impressed. He glances down at the spot where my hand rests on Aaron's shoulder. And I can't be entirely sure, but I think his jaw ticks. Frustrated? Angry? Jealous? Does he not want me to comfort his brother? Are there weird rules about physical contact I don't know about?

Well, if there are any, no one informed me, so he can fuck off with that stare because I just defused an annoying situation.

Aaron slinks to the couch, pulling a crochet blanket off the back and draping it over himself.

I see Soren take in a long inhale of breath. Relief is plain on his face.

"I'm going to remember that in the morning," Aaron mumbles with his eyes shut, his legs dangling off the couch that is too short to accommodate him.

Before I can respond, he's snoring.

I flick my eyes up at Soren; he has a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle laughter. I smile at him.

Nope, don ' t smile at him. Stop that.

Okay, yes, he's a hot green giant giggling like a child who just heard a bad word. That ' s not cute. That ' s not funny. Stop looking at him.

I turn back to Aaron, averting my gaze and masking the smile spreading on my face like a flower in bloom. Aaron has his head cranked back in a very uncomfortable position and his mouth wide open. Dammit, I wish I had my phone. I need this picture.

That said, the image of two colossal ogres having a drunken battle over sleeping arrangements will live rent-free in my mind forever.

Soren looks over at me, jerking his chin toward the stairs. I nod.

Yes, sleep.

We both walk over to the banister, making as little noise as possible. The first step creeks when Soren steps onto it. I wince and look over at Aaron. He's still out cold.

We both breathe out a sigh of relief, taking our time up the steps.

Soren walks me to my door.

"I didn't know your brother was such a crybaby," I tease.

"You haven't seen the half of it." He arches a brow, looking so roguish that I almost forget he's not human. Before I clock the movement, he looms his face closer to mine, his lips just at my ear, as if to tell a secret. "One year, he cried in the bathroom all night because I made the wrong cake. He wanted spice; I made lemon."

I should focus on the story about an overly dramatic sibling. But, instead, all I can focus on is Soren's breath fanning over my ear and neck. I almost close my eyes against the sensation.

Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?

"Ha, that's funny," I say, stepping back out of range. I turn on my heel, breaking this connection as fast as possible…and smack my face on the closed bedroom door. "Motherfucker!" I whisper yell. So much for my sleek escape.

"Are you okay?" Soren steps even closer, inspecting my forehead. His hands glide over the skin on my face, warm and calloused. Goddammit. Mariana, stop it! Put a wall up now, or you ' ll regret it!

"I'm fine," I say, batting away his hands. "Just a bump."

"Well, let me look at it.."He reaches for me again, concern creasing his brow .

"Nope," I cut him off. "I'm a grown-ass adult; I'm fine." This time, I open the door and step into my room. Soren looks a little confused and maybe a little hurt. Instead of offering my apologies, I shut the door in his face. Because why not add injury to insult?

There, that should send a clear message.

Morning. Fantastic.

I forgot the triplets were coming over again. At least I'm not hungover and tired.

Choosing not to partake in a refreshing glass of beer might be one of the more intelligent decisions I've made since arriving in this infuriating place.

In the clear light of morning, I feel bad about how I treated Soren last night. He was trying to be helpful, friendly even. I was the one who made it into something it's not.

Just me and my fucking head that wants to rage at anything that might be comforting or kind. After years of therapy, I still can't control my anger. Well, I can, to an extent. But I'm out of my element here. So all of my hard work dissolves into fear, panic. My baser nature moving to the forefront. And Soren is, unfortunately, at the brunt of it all.

I blink against another cold gray day. Still raining. Aren't we supposed to be hearing from some mystic village elders soon?

I think that's what Soren said. I'll have to ask him about that later if he still wants to talk to me .

Not long after I come downstairs, Soren and the three ogre children barrel through the door, each throwing excited arms around me at their approach.

Soren looks worse for wear. If the dark green bags under his eyes are any indication, he got less sleep than I did last night.

I almost feel bad that he's heading out to work in the weather and we get to stay inside.

Almost.

"Nuck Aaron!" Ash yells, throwing himself on the passed-out, hungover ogre.

To his credit, Aaron doesn't get mad.He gently lifts Ash off his stomach, gives the boy a soft smile, then promptly turnsadarkershade ofgreen and runs to the bathroom.

"Is Nuck okay?" Olive asks.

"Yes, he's just had too many sweets last night, that's all," Soren says, beckoning the children to come into the kitchen."I have to go out and work for a bit, so you all will stay with Mari again. Is that alright?" he asks, followed by an enthusiastic yes.

Spending time with Violet, Ash, and Olive has been a truly magical experience. They are inquisitive, kind, and a little mischievous, but that's to be expected. We put together puzzles, read some books, and run out in the rain when cabin fever gets the best of us.

Soren left lunch in the icebox and another slow-cooked meal roasting in the oven for dinner.

"Hey, Violet, how far is your house from here?" I ask, needing to know how early Soren had to get up to get all of this done. Did he get any sleep at all?

"Um," she thinks momentarily, rolling her eyes to the sky in contemplation.

"It's an hour if you're riding slow," Ash interrupts. "And we always have to ride slow," he says, frustrated.

He mentioned yesterday that he was learning how to ride on his own. From his expression, that day can't come soon enough. I crack a smile at him.

Soren had two hours of riding, give or take. Then, there was the prep time beforehand for lunch and dinner, which I could have made.

Shit, he only got two to three hours of sleep last night. I don't want to feel sorry for him. I'm doing my best to stay neutral about everything.

Is he always taking care of people like this? Does he ever get a moment's rest in a family of twenty-one?

Stop, a harsh voice echoes in my head. Stop thinking about him; stop sympathizing. This is a stop on the way home. Nothing more. The goal is to find your friends, who, I might add, are likely to be here, possibly in trouble.

I must have been lost in thought because all three kids made their way upstairs to my room. I find them bouncing on the bed and singing some unknown nursery rhyme.

"Hey, you little mischief makers, how did you get up here so fast?" I reach for Violet and grab her small foot, tickling it.

All three alight with laughter, their little faces flushing.

A loud crack rings through the house, metal striking hardwood. Sounds from the storm outside fill the room, and boots thud on the floor. All four of us crash downstairs to see what the commotion is.

Ingus, the children's father, stands in the doorway, dripping, worry creasing his brow.

"Come, we must hurry home." He gestures at the triplets. "Please, hurry." The kids run the rest of the way downstairs and grab their jackets.

"What's going on?" Soren says, approaching from behind, splattered with red and purple fabric dye.

Ingus turns to Soren, his grim face leaching of color.