Dax
The sound of chimes wakes me from a deep sleep. Next to me, Evianna calls out on a yawn, “Alfie, show front door.” A second later, she’s sitting up, and her fingers curl around my arm. “Dax. It’s…Ryker and Wren.”
For a moment, her words don’t register. And then, it’s like someone shot electricity through my entire body. I’m on my feet, fumbling around for my pajama pants, until I remember I’m not at my apartment. I’m at Evianna’s house—where we’ve been living for the past ten days—and I’m still a little iffy where everything is.
“Dax. Stop.” Her uneven footsteps make the wood floors creak as she rounds the bed, and I still. “Pants,” she says softly as she drapes soft material over my hands. “And a black t-shirt. I’ll let them in. Your cane’s downstairs—”
“I can make it to the living room,” I grit out.
With a little huff, she heads for the bedroom door. “If you fall down the stairs, I’m going to be really pissed off.”
“Darlin’, wait.” Regret roughens my tone, and I pull on the pants and shirt, then hold out my hand. “I’m not…steady.” She’s not either. With her hand at my elbow, I can feel the slight tremble in her fingers. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty-three. It’s barely light out.” At the bottom of the stairs, she guides me to the right, enters a ten-digit code, then flips the locks.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as soon as Ry and Wren’s diffuse, hazy forms are silhouetted in the pre-dawn glow from the street lights.
“Snackcakes,” Wren mutters. “You didn’t call him, did you?” Ryker grunts what might be a no, and Wren huffs. “Dax, I’m sorry for showing up at the crack of dawn. Can we…uh…come in?”
Fuck. Manners, Holloway. Remember ‘em.
……
More to come…