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Something twisted inside my chest at the way he said “we”—at the implication that seemed to lace that single word.
I was still trying to decide what the hell that meant when he placed his palm on the small of my back. “I was about to show Cate to her room.”
Shaw frowned as Lachlan led me toward that single black door on the other side. “Shouldn’t she stay in the eastern wing?”
The eastern wing? How could he tell which way was east with the floor’s nonsensical architecture?
Lachlan’s hand slipped lower, to grip the curve of my hip. “She will stay with me.”
My eyes flashed to his, a rebuke poised on the tip of my tongue. Like hell I was going to share a room with him.
Shaw seemed to notice my discomfort. “There are plenty of empty bedrooms for her to use.”
“Your concern is noted.”
I sucked in a deep breath, twisted the pendant in my fingers, and let him have it. But if Lachlan heard the string of curses I was shouting at him through our magical connection, he didn’t so much as blink.
So I added a few more.
“Maybe you should…” Shaw trailed away as Lachlan left my side and strode toward him, grabbed his elbow, and hauled him across the foyer.
Gran used to tell me to count out my frustration when she sensed the anger I bottled up was about to shatter free. I started counting as Shaw and Lachlan whispered heatedly, the former’s eyes straying to mine every few seconds. By the time he threw his hands in the air, shot me an apologetic look, and nipped out of sight, I was at 111 in my count.
Lachlan muttered something uncharitable before flourishing a hand toward the black door that apparently led to his private wing.
“I meant what I said before. You should be nicer to your family.”
“And why is that?” He rubbed his temple.
“Because you’re lucky to have them.” My voice shook slightly. “Not everyone gets a family.”
The lines of his face softened along with his tone. “I know that.” He nodded toward the door. “Let me show you where you’re staying.”
I braced myself for another fight as he opened the door.
A bedroom didn’t wait on the other side. Instead, I stepped into a massive living room that oozed pure masculinity reminiscent of the male who called it home. Black-paneled walls were broken on one side by a large picture window that looked over the lights of New Orleans. The faint thrum of the traffic was punctuated by the pop of logs in the marble hearth. On either side, bookshelves were built into the walls; firelight danced on the paperbacks that were crammed onto the shelves. A long, leather couch and two club chairs occupied the space, a brass coffee table situated on the thin, woven rug beneath them.
He strode across the living room, straight to an antique bar cart brimming with various bottles of liquor. He frowned when he reached it and waved a hand, and a bucket of ice appeared, mist curling over its frosted edge. Now that was useful magic. He tossed a few cubes into two glasses and poured amber liquid from a crystal decanter before stretching one out to me.
I hesitated. If he expected me to share his quarters, and it was obvious that he did, maybe we needed to establish a few ground rules before we added alcohol to the mix.
“It’s not poisoned.”
I accepted it with a sigh but didn’t take a sip. Not until I knew why he’d insisted on me staying with him. I clutched the drink, my thumb tracing a pattern in the condensation sweating through the glass. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in the eastern wing.”
Better, even. Something kept that thought locked in my mouth. Maybe I was developing a sense of self-preservation.
“That’s debatable.” He took a languid drink that drew my attention to his mouth. “Don’t worry, princess. You have your own bedroom.”
I dared a glance down the hall, relieved to see several doors. At least he didn’t expect us to share a bed. “Do you all have your own wing?”
“Shaw and Roark share. I personally prefer to be at least a mile away from my siblings at all times.” He took another swig of his whiskey, and I wondered if it burned down his throat the way his touch seared across my skin. “As for why you’ll want to be in my wing, these events have a tendency to get a little debauched.”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrow. “Debauched? Do I want to know what that means?”
“I told you there would be lots of ritual fuckery,” he reminded me. “Believe me, you don’t want to be sharing a wall with Roark if he brings guests home.”
“Guests? As in plural?”