Page 80 of Vicious Luna
“Not often,” I grumble, darting her a glance. “Are you trying to tell me I’m psychic?”
She winces, chewing on her lower lip. “Well, in a sense. I mean, everyone’s gifts are different, and some are more developed than others. Some people with the gift are just varying levels of intuitive. My mom’s gifts are really developed, she’s a seer. She can call a vision forward when she wants to, but she only sees what fate wants her to. So, for example, when Avery was captured, she tried to use her gifts to help us find her, but she couldn’t get any visions to come. Fate must not have wanted her to intervene.”
I nod slowly as I process her words.
“And as for me, I have some visions, but mine are different,” she continues, waving a hand. “My mom can call visions forward by touch, but mine come to me in dreams. And they’re kind of all over the place right now, I’m still trying to get a handle on how to control them. Sometimes I have no idea what they mean, like with you. I kept seeing you in my dreams at night, but I had no idea who you were or why I was seeing you. But like I told Aves, now that I know you’re her mate, it makes sense.”
“What were the dreams about?” I ask, internally cringingat the thought that she might’ve seen me being a total dick to her friend.
The corner of her lips lift in a coy smile. “Well, I’m not really supposed to say. My mom says sharing visions can mess with fate, so you have to be careful what you actually disclose. But…” she leans forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I saw you fighting with us against the hunters.”
My brows shoot up, jaw going slack.
“That’s why I let you out yesterday,” she admits, waggling her brows mischievously as she lifts her coffee mug and takes a sip. The smell wafting from it is sickeningly sweet; I’m pretty sure it’s more creamer than coffee. She licks her lips before lowering it to the counter again, grinning at me. “Let’s just say I knew we could trust you because fate gave me some insider information.”
“Can you tell me how this ends, then?” I grumble.
The beep of the waffle maker interrupts us again and she pushes off from the island, crossing back over to the opposite counter. “Wish I could,” she sighs as she unclamps the iron and pulls the fresh waffle off with a fork. “Unfortunately, I can’t pick and choose what I see. I just get snippets.” She gets to work pouring in more batter and setting the iron. “I mean, yesterday could’ve been a fluke, but I think you’re a little bit of an intuitive,” she says absently, turning to face me. “I’m not trying to freak you out or anything, I’ve just never met anyone like me. Well, other than my mom of, course. It's kinda exciting.”
I open my mouth to respond, but snap it shut at the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs. A wise choice, since Madd storms into the kitchen a couple seconds later wearing ripped jeans, a backwards hat, and an angry scowl. He stomps directly over to Sloane, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her body possessively.
“The only reason you’re not in a cell right now is because Ilove my sister,” he growls, glaring daggers at me over her head.
“Madd, stop being a dick,” Avery calls as she bounds into the kitchen dressed in the shortest shorts known to man.Goddamn, thoselegs.“I’m the only one who gets to torture our prisoner,” she remarks, shooting me a wink as she breezes past and goes straight for the coffee maker. It takes incredible restraint not to stare at her ass while she reaches into the cabinet above it to retrieve a couple of mugs, setting them on the counter to fill them up.
“Is that what you were doing last night?” Madd scoffs.
Avery whips around to gape at him, a blush rising to her cheeks, but she quickly covers it by raising her coffee mug to her lips and taking a sip, regaining her composure before lowering it again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says dismissively, picking up the second coffee mug and carrying it over to him.
The waffle maker beeps, and Madd begrudgingly lets Sloane slip from his arms to go tend to breakfast, turning to accept the coffee from Avery. I can’t help but notice that his cup matches Sloane’s, but instead of white with black lettering, his is black with ‘Duke’ imprinted in white. Didn’t peg him as the cheesy, matching-coffee-mugs type, but I suppose love does strange things to people.
“Alright, let’s eat!” Sloane calls out as she forks the last waffle from the iron onto the pile, turning it off and picking up the plate. She carries it over to the kitchen island, Madd grabbing a waffle off the top of the stack before she can even set them down and biting into it like a goddamn caveman.
“Fuck, babe, these are amazing,” he mumbles as he chews, his eyes rolling back. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she purrs, pressing up on her tiptoes to smack a kiss on his cheek.
Avery groans as she rounds the island with a stack of plates. “Ugh, get a room, you two,” she mutters as she slidesonto the stool beside me, passing me a plate before taking one for herself.
Sloane grabs whipped cream out of the fridge and forks for each of us, coming around to sit next to Avery at the island, but Madd remains standing on the opposite side, eating his waffle with his hands and glaring at me.
“Hey, any update on Mason?” Avery asks absently as she forks a waffle onto each of our plates.
“Norah’s with him now,” Sloane provides. “I caught her before she left this morning and she said he’s doing a lot better. Figured we could stop by the infirmary to check on him after the meeting.”
Madd grunts in affirmation, helping himself to another waffle. My presence isn’t the only thing responsible for his foul mood- his Beta was seriously injured in the attack yesterday and had to spend the night under a doctor’s care. Madd should be glad to hear that his condition is improving, but instead, the atmosphere only seems to grow more tense.
At least breakfast doesn’t last long. The others rush through their food, eager to leave for their meeting, and just as Sloane is clearing the dishes and dropping them in the sink, I hear someone come in through the front door. Moments later, a leggy brunette walks through the doorway into the kitchen, cheerfully announcing her arrival.
She’s young- no older than twenty, I’d guess- and she’s tall and slender with smooth olive skin and piercing hazel eyes. Not really my type, since my tastes are very singular these days, but she’s undeniably attractive.
“So you’re the hunter, huh?” the girl asks, cocking her head to the side as she gives me a slow once-over. “You don’t look that scary.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I guess looks can be deceiving.”
“Oh, I know,” she muses, a devious smirk coming to her lips that looks a whole lot like my beastie’s. Actually, now that I really look at her, that’s not the only similarity betweenthem. This girl has the same high cheekbones and pouty lips as Avery, and they’ve both got that distinctive sharp edge to their demeanor. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that they’re related somehow.
Avery eases off her barstool, gesturing to the newcomer. “Cam, this is my cousin, River,” she supplies.