Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(96)

Silence.

I roll over in bed, looking at the light filtering beneath my closed bedroom door.

“Fiona. Are you not hearing what I’m saying? I’m about to start breaking necks, and I can promise I have the rap sheet to back that threat up, unlike the elderly owner of this fucking cabin. Turn it off.”

Folding back my sheets, I get out of bed and peek into the hall; Kal Anderson and Fiona stand at the top of the stairs, locked in some sort of face-off.

Her arms are crossed, her face as red as her hair, and his flat expression somehow holds enough aggression that I feel it waft toward me.

“I hate men.” She spins on her heel, stomping downstairs, her ponytail swishing back and forth between her shoulder blades.

Wiping the sluggishness from my eyes, I venture farther out into the hall; Kal’s head whips in my direction, surprise lighting his sharp features.

“Riley.” He nods, as professional as ever.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was told you’re returning to King’s Trace.” He holds up a detached security camera in one gloved hand, shrugging. “Supposed you wouldn’t need these anymore.”

“God, you guys don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Procrastination is a poor man’s game.” He sweeps past me, the air chilling as it bends around him. The tail ends of his trench coat fly behind him as he walks to a cardboard box at the end of the hall, dumping the camera inside.

I watch him disassemble the device and then seal the box, mesmerized by his precise movements.

“If you have something to say, Ms. Kelly, by all means. Before I’m dead.”

Smirking, I rock back on my heels, a tiny vein throbbing in my forehead. Weirdly, I think I’ll miss this.

“Thank you.”

He blinks. “For?”

“Everything, Kal.” Emotion wells in my throat, and I bite down on my tongue, suppressing it. “Everything.”

For a few silent beats, he just looks at me; his black eyes unfocus slightly, as if he’s seeing through me, but then he blinks again and nods. There isn’t a single shift in his expression, nothing to suggest that he feels anything right now.

“You don’t owe me your gratitude,” he says finally. “You owe it to yourself.”

I nod, starting down the stairs with that sentiment knocking around my skull.

Then, “But you’re welcome, anyway.”

Rolling my eyes, I go in search of Fiona, finding her crouched in front of the living room television with her ear pressed against the screen. I stop behind her, crossing my arms and cocking my head to the side.

“What are you doing?”

She screams, practically jumping out of her skin. Stumbling back onto her ass, she glares at me, her hand flying to her chest. “God, Riley, you can’t fucking sneak up on people. Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“It’s hard to sleep when you and Kal are arguing outside my room—”

My eyes flicker to the television, bright flashing lights catching my attention; the camera pans around a rooftop stage where some color guard is performing for a New Year’s Eve party.

A banner of text glides across the bottom, an array of upcoming acts streaming on a continuous loop.

Only one stands out, though.

Aiden James, in big block lettering. The Man, The Myth, The Legend.

Fiona follows my line of sight, wincing, and lifts the remote in her hand. “See, this is why you were supposed to be asleep. I’ll turn it off—”

“No, it’s fine.” Holding my palm up, I shrug, pasting a fake smile on my face.

Her mouth twists up. “I just wanted to watch the ball drop.”

“So, watch it.” I shrug, flopping down on the sofa across the room. My laptop sits on the coffee table, so I pull it into my lap and open up my portfolio, pretending like I don’t want to look at the show with every fiber of my being.

She keeps it on a low volume for a long time, sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, and I manage to tune it out while Kal and Boyd pack boxes of my non-personal stuff outside.

I really hadn’t expected to be leaving Lunar Cove so soon, but I suppose if there’s no longer any threat, staying here doesn’t exactly make sense.

A pang ripples in my chest when I think about telling Caleb that I’m leaving, but on the other hand, it’s probably better that I do. Nip any lingering feelings in the bud, just in case.

I’m trying to concentrate on a web concept for some kind of paywall story app, but Fiona keeps muttering things under her breath and scooting closer to the television. Her face is almost squashed against it when I glance up again.

“Fi, for fuck’s sake, just turn it up—”

The color guard is gone from the stage, and in its place are an array of purple and black instruments, a two-headed serpentine design painted on the face of the bass drum.

My stomach churns violently, my breath hitching in my throat as I see a mop of dark brown hair and long legs cross over to say something to the keyboardist off the side.

He moves effortlessly, in black jeans and a gray peacoat, with a black electric guitar slung around his back. Commands the presence of his audience, though I don’t think he can even see them on the streets below and watching from home.

A god among mortals.