Queen of Death

Solana

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were nesting again," Ace purrs from the doorway to the bedroom we've all been sharing. Ace and Hunter usually sandwich me between them, but sometimes I'll wake up for a minute with Tate wrapped around me like a squid.

With the patience of a saint, Ace watches me re-make the bed for the third time in the last hour.

I chuckle at the notion and fluff the pillows a little more vigorously. "I'm not going into heat. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Mm," he hums thoughtfully, his green eyes sparking with humor. "That is disappointing because I rather enjoyed your last heat."

My cheeks flush with color to compliment the shy smile I can't suppress at the memories, what few exist, of that time. I shrug with insincere nonchalance, "maybe we could do it again sometime."

His pupils nearly swallow his green irises whole before his eyes narrow with dark intentions and salacious promises.

He sits down on the edge of the bed nearest to the night stand I'm needlessly straightening. Heat from his large, strong hands wraps around my forearm. Gently he tugs me to face him, where he cups my face in those same warm hands.

"We're going out for a bit to stretch our legs and wings. Get some fresh air." With every word I inch a little closer to him, drawn to him by his wolf and his inner fire. "You should come with us."

I rest my forehead against his, our noses graze while our lips gravitate towards one another on instinct. There's no rush in his movement. He angles my head to deepen the kiss, his tongue caressing mine just as softly as his hands caress my skin.

Ace is always composed, his control and self-discipline rarely falters. I love his dominance and his intensity, but I love how tender he can be, too. Just for me.

We sit in that moment for a while before I break away and shake my head. "No, you guys go ahead. I'm going to stay here in case he comes back while you're out."

"It's been two days, Princess." Ace doesn't take his lips off of my skin. He simply moves from my lips down to the column of my neck that bears fresh bites and bruises from all three of them.

"All the more reason to stay." My voice cracks with unanticipated emotion. I'm worried about where Dean is and if he's alive, I'm concerned for Tate and what the worst might mean for his well-being, and I fear that Death may die without Dean here.

Ace grunts his frustration but I know it doesn't come from a place of anger. His alpha instincts call him to comfort us and reassure us, to lead us through the worst of times. I've been noticing though, over the last two days especially, that he's been lingering more. His eyes linger and track my movements, his fingertips linger on my skin, the words that are on his chest linger on the tip of his tongue but ultimately are bitten back.

He nods solemnly, "if you're sure, Princess."

"I'm sure," I give him a tight, unconvincing smile.

I don't know how my mom and dads do it. I'm growing more nauseous by the minute waiting helplessly for Dean to come home. How do they handle worrying about an entire colony? How did my parents survive being separated for months?

Dean's been missing for two days and I'm already losing sleep. I need to be busy, I need to have a purpose. Hence the compulsive cleaning and cooking.

Ace takes my hand in his and places a tender kiss in my palm. "Okay. Eli will probably stay behind with you." When Ace raises to his feet he towers over me. I'll never get used to his size, nor will I get used to the way my body responds to his.

He's broad in the shoulders and solid as stone in his core. If I didn't know he was only 150 years old I'd have sworn he was the model for the statue of David. With one notable exception of course — a very thick and long exception.

"If he's just staying because he's worried I'll take off tell him not to bother," I look up at Ace, my burning, green eyes locked on his. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know, Princess." He tucks a loose tendril of my white hair behind my ear, sending shockwaves through my system when his fingers brush against my ear. "Between you and me, I think he's staying so he can steal some more of those ball things you made this morning."

"The pão de queijo?"

"No, not the bread ones, the chocolate ones."

"Ah," I smile knowingly. "The brigadeiros. I've never met a man who loves sweets as much as him." I take the lead heading out of the bedroom and down the stairs where the rest of the guys are stationed.

"Yeah, well they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

A small laugh bursts out of me because the only time I've ever gotten to a man's heart through his stomach was when I gutted him like a fish. "As applicable with food as it is with a dagger," I grin mischievously.

"Such a thirst for blood. I'd say you've been hanging out with Tate too much but Hunter swears you were this ruthless before."

We reach the bottom of the stairs and gravitate towards the couches where Hunter and Tate are sitting. "Well, if Hunter says it's true then it must be."

"What am I alleged to have said?" Hunter perks up at the mention of his name.

"That I'm a sweet, gentle little butterfly." I say breathlessly and pretend to faint over the back of the couch, spilling gracelessly into his lap.

Eli snorts from the kitchen across the room. "Oh, right, yes of course. Like a delicate little flower. Except it's got thorns, is poisonous in even the smallest of doses, and has a root system that suffocates everything around it."

"Eli!" I gush sarcastically, hand held over my heart. "That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."

To hide his smile, Eli pops another of my chocolates into his mouth and turns to face the window.

"Behave while we're gone, yeah?" Ace says to me out of habit more than necessity.

I can't resist. "Yes, asshole," I purr at him, loving the blush that heats his neck and cheeks. A surge of temptation to taste it floods through my body, settling deep in my core.

"Behave," he warns me again with a hard smack to my ass that makes me yelp aloud uncharacteristically.

Hunter and Tate both give me a chaste kiss goodbye and then as fast as a wink the three of them disappear.

I slowly approach Eli sitting at the kitchen island, still engrossed in watching whatever caught his attention outside the window.

"I was going to get started on dinner, any requests?" I stick out my proverbial olive branch and hope that he takes it. Ever since he found out that I'm Nightshade he's been distant and colder.

I can handle indifference, I could live with it if I had to. But I can't move forward if anger is what underscores our every encounter.

He laughs humorlessly, "trying to butter me up with all my childhood favorites?"

I shrug a shoulder to one ear, "I learned today that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Lucky for you they apparently were referring to food, and not weapons."

At this he laughs candidly for the first time in weeks and it feels like the first layer of whatever hate-onion we're in has been peeled back.

"I'll eat your food. Whether or not it has any effect on my heart is still up for debate." He says not unkindly.

"Fair enough."

He raps on the table twice with his knuckle before sliding off of the bar stool. "I'm going to go work some shit out in the gym until the guys get back." Just before he gets to the hallway next to the stairs he looks back at me over his shoulder and all but mumbles, "if you happened to make pastéis I would be okay with that."

I give him a slight nod and grin triumphantly to myself. There may be some merit to this stomach-heart connection after all.

I set to work straight away prepping the chicken to boil before I begin mixing ingredients for the dough and rolling it out onto the counter. In another pan I toss in my yellow and green onions to sauté before adding my herbs and tomato paste.

Delicious aromas of garlic and oregano fill the kitchen. The smells and sounds of sizzling onions and simmering sauce are almost enough to mask the sound of heavy boots landing on the tiled floor by the elevator and the rancid smell of mud.

I flip my chef knife in hand, turn sharply toward the intruder, and launch my knife directly at them.

"Fuck!" A familiar voice cries out. I slip into the shadows and round the counter silently. Slowly I approach the intruder who is doubled over holding the side of their bleeding head from where my knife shaved the side of their scalp.

I kick the legs out from under the intruder and he lands on his back with a heavy thud, coughing as the air is knocked out of his lungs on impact.

When I finally get a closer look at his face it's my turn to get all the air knocked out of me.

"Dean?"