He was beautiful in sleep, too. That was it. From this moment I’d never go another night without seeing his face like this. All the harsh lines had softened and his permanent scowl had disappeared. He always looked so pissed off but in sleep he looked carefree.
And he called me ‘kitten’. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? No one had ever given me a pet name before. I’d always been called ‘crazy’ or ‘killer’ or ‘psycho’. The name calling never bothered me or even got a reaction out of me but something about Wilder calling me his kitten had my insides humming like he’d stabbed me with a goddamn live wire.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and called my twin, desperate to talk to him about it.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Bishop said, his voice bright and cheery.
“Have you been in the Christmas punch?”
He snorted. “I’ve only had a couple of glasses.”
Idiot. I’d warned him against it because it was one of Acheron’s concoctions and bound to be deadly. “You’ll only have yourself to blame tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s a good job it’s Christmas tomorrow then, isn’t it?” he laughed. “I can sleep all day if I want to.”
How the hell was this man so happy all the time? Wasn’t it draining? “Whatever. Can you talk?”
Another snort assaulted my ears. “Of course I can talk. I’m an expert at talking because I’ve been doing it for years, Byron.”
He giggled at his own joke, and it pissed me off. “If you’re going to be a smart arse, I’ll speak to Aleksey instead.”
“No, stop. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have avoided the punch. What is it?”
Wilder nuzzled into my neck and his lips ghosted against my skin. This moment felt pivotal. He might be unconscious, but Wilder wanted me. I could tell. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging it free from the sexy little bun he’d worn it in today. It was softer than I imagined, like silk between my fingers and I was fascinated by the way the light caught the lighter copper shades in his waves. If I could stay like this forever, caught inthis moment, there was a slim possibility I might actually die happy.
“Byron?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, Wilder’s breaths brushing against my lips and making my dick hard. “I got distracted.”
“Distracted?” Bishop paused, and I could almost hear the cogs of his alcohol-addled brain whirring down the phone. “Where’s Wilder?”
“What makes you ask that?” I said with a wide grin as I stared at the man in question.
“Neither you nor he are here. Where is he? Is he okay?”
“He’s safe.”
“Safe and okay are not the same thing, Byron.” The sounds of the Christmas party faded into the background as Bishop went to find a quieter spot. “Have you hurt him?”
“No. Of course not.” I wasn’t going to actually hurt Wilder.
Much.
“What have you done, Byron?” Bishop asked, his tone a lot sharper than it had been a few moments ago.
I looked at Wilder’s pretty sleeping face. “The man I stole that ring from is his father.”
“What?” my twin hissed.
“I’m keeping Wilder away from him and I’m going to keep a close eye on him.”
“Fuck,” Bishop huffed. “You’ve knocked him out and tied him up, haven’t you?”
I grinned. My twin knew me too well.
“He called me ‘kitten’, Bishop,” I said with a soft sigh. I’d never been sentimental, but the raspy way Wilder said ‘kitten’ would live rent-free in my brain forever. Just thinking about it had my dick throbbing.
“He—what?”