Serena

I TRY TO KEEP MY NERVOUS energy to a minimum. After all, she can smell fear from a mile away. Literally. I clear my throat and square my shoulders as Mags stares me down.

“Morning,” I chirp brightly.

“I know.” Her expression is flat.

“Know what?” I say dryly.

Her gaze lifts from the pancakes she’s making.

She pins me with her don’t be stupid look. “I warned you about this, Serena. On multiple occasions.”

Busted.

I wince. “I can explain.”

“I don’t want an explanation,” she shoots back harshly.

“Why are you so mad?” I ask, confused.

“Because I hate when you do this.”

“I don’t do this that often,” I bite out.

Actually, never.

“Yes. You do. All the time,” she argues, and steps around me, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge.

I turn slowly and face her. “It was a one-time thing, Magali. A momentary lack of self-discipline,” I assure her. “One that I am fully regretting this morning. Trust me.”

“What?” Her face scrunches. “Stop being dramatic.”

“No really. Regrets all over the place. Not to mention the guilt and shame,” I lie, trying to calm her down.

She twists the cap back onto her water bottle and sets it on the counter, furrowing her brows. “Serena—”

“Honestly, it was a huge mistake. Big. The biggest ever.”

Magali tilts her head to the side. “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry, what?” I squeak out, not understanding.

“This can’t just be about the towel,” she signs.

“What towel?” I ask.

“The wet one you threw on the bathroom floor and left overnight. The one with your makeup smeared all over it. You know I hate that,” she explains. “It ends up smelling all gross and moldy. How hard is it to hang it up to dry?”

Oh. The towel. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Serena.

“Right. Crap. Sorry. Yeah, the towel.” I ramble.

Her gaze narrows, but before she can inquire further, the door to our suite opens and in walks Zander with Rulf behind him, pushing him farther into the space forcefully.

“This satyr belong to someone in here?” Rulf asks sternly. With one final push, he thrusts Zander toward me.

Magali smiles brightly. “He’s mine.”

“What?” Rulf and I say at the same time.

“He’s here to see me,” she clarifies.

A triumphant smile appears on Zander’s face.

“I tried to tell him but he didn’t believe me,” he explains.

Magali shoots Rulf an annoyed expression.

“I invited him for breakfast.”

Rulf raises an eyebrow. “That all you invited him for?”

“Of course,” she retorts, with her hands flying wildly.

With a grunt, Rulf grabs a pancake off the plate and throws me an exasperated glare before leaving.

Zander stands in the middle of the room looking sheepish.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greets, presenting to Magali a bunch of wild flowers that he was hiding behind his back.

I watch my best friend melt into a huge puddle of goo as she takes and sniffs them, then mouths a thank you to him.

She rarely mouths words unless she’s extremely comfortable with you, so that in itself is curious.

“I didn’t realize it was customary to bring your trainees flowers.” I don’t try to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Zander looks at me and winks. “That’s because you’re training with a demon, and they have no manners,” he jests.

“Half-demon.” Tristan comes up behind me and I freeze.

Our gazes meet in the reflection off the microwave.

One look and suddenly, he’s everywhere, taking up all the accessible air in the room. It’s amazing how his mere presence immediately renders me stupid. I really need to learn to get my emotions under control around him.

Last night was no big deal.

I squeeze my eyes closed and remember the look in his, right before he freaked out and pulled out of me.

Like I was his everything.

With effort, I return my attention to Zander, but falter when I notice the playful light in his eyes has disappeared, as he watches Tristan and me closely.

Tristan steps forward to stand next to me, and I concentrate on breathing. Everything inside me tightens in response to his nearness. I look to Mags, who is filling a vase with water, oblivious to all the tension.

The side of Zander’s mouth kicks up. “Speaking of instructors and trainees, what have you two been up to since we last saw one another?” His tone is light.

“None of your fucking business,” Tristan retorts in a gruff voice, before smacking him on the back of his head.

Magali turns around just in time to see her guest get whacked. “Hey! No hitting at breakfast,” she scolds.

I watch quietly as she grabs the plate of pancakes she whipped up and places it down in front of Zander, who’s made himself comfortable on a stool at the counter.

Tristan takes the second seat, and I’m left standing while Mags places coffee, fruit, and bacon on the counter.

“How long have you two been friends?” I manage.

Zander’s smile drops as he looks, confused, between me and Tristan. “Since childhood. Five or six, I guess?” his answers comes across more like a question than an answer.

“Us too,” Magali beams, causing Zander to light up.

I turn my attention to Tristan.

He’s watching Zander and Magali, with his lips turned down in an unhappy manner.

“That’s a long time to befriend a dangerous male nymph,” I tease, and instantly regret saying it when I see Tristan’s face line with shadows.

“Nymphs are dangerous. Satyrs are not,” he states.

“Why is that?” I prod.

“Nymphs have the ability to turn you mad. Satyrs just have the ability to bed you,” he replies harshly.

The insinuation of his words causes a silence to fall and hang over all of us. Most beings within the supernatural world use nymphs for their own selfish needs, and then just discard them.

Magali and I were brought up differently. We were taught that every being has value, regardless of bloodlines and supernatural ties. With the exception of goblins; my uncle Asher and aunt Eve have this unnatural hatred of the little green creatures.

Magali knocks on the counter, gaining our attention.

“So you’re a prince?” she asks Zander.

“I am,” he dips his chin.

“That must be cool,” she tries to end the unease.

He lifts a shoulder. “It has its moments. Mostly it’s a lot of pomp and circumstance. Right, Tristan?”

We all swing our gazes to Tristan, who has fallen silent, his mind obviously somewhere else.

“How would Tristan know what that’s like?” I question.

Once again, Zander throws me a curious glance.

“We’re brothers,” he replies. “Didn’t he tell you that?”

I glance at Tristan and swallow. “Brothers?”

His eyes pierce mine before sliding to Magali.

He flinches, knowing he can’t lie.

She’ll sense it.

“Your mother is Queen Ophelia? Queen of the woodland nymphs?” My voice cracks, because all of a sudden my unmerited attraction to him makes complete sense.

His secondary bloodline is satyr, meant to seduce.

“Does that change your opinion of me, raindrop?” He waits for my answer. I swear he’s holding his breath.

At my silence, Tristan’s face falls.

Irritated at my lack of response, he stands, grabs his empty plate and steps around me.

His arm brushes mine ever so featherlightly, and every nerve in my body kick-starts at the brief contact.

I watch him throw the plate in the sink and turn back to me, leveling me with a harsh look.

No, it’s not the satyr blood that draws me to him.

There’s something else there, something deeper.

A darkness that calls to me.

One I can’t shake, and it both excites and terrifies me.