Page 96 of Roguefinder

“I’m serious. You need calories before you crash here in a second.”

“Later. I’m marinating.”

“In cum?”

“Whatever.” I wiggled closer to him and closed my eyes. Snuggling had never topped my list of must-haves in life, but Jesse was right: people had a way of changing their shape.

He pulled me into his arms, and we stayed like that, drifting with the distant traffic noises filtering through the window.

As sweat cooled on my skin, my mind settled on our most immediate problem.

“Do you think Stefanos is sending Emile to hurt us?”

Jesse untangled himself and lifted onto his elbow. “No. If the Council wished us harm, they wouldn’t announce it first.” His eyes went serious, the chocolate brown so soft they broke my heart a little. “We’re going to figure this out and put Rome behind us. Then I’m going to marry you.”

My heart did a cartwheel and a couple twisting layouts. “You want to make an honest man of me?”

“I mean, we already consummated our union.”

I looked down at myself and grimaced. “Yeah, our consummation is drying on my chest. And probably the carpet.”

Grinning, he rolled on top of me and kissed me until we were both smiling too hard to keep at it. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft again.

“Will you marry me, Caleb Lawson?”

How could I say no to him? I couldn’t. He didn’t know it yet, but Jesse was going to win every argument. Because I didn’t have it in my DNA to resist him.

“Yes,” I said, smoothing his eyebrow with my thumb. “I’ll marry you, Jesse van der Meer.”

Chapter

Nineteen

JESSE

The morning arrived wet and rainy, with half of Rome plunged into darkness. A storm had rolled in sometime after midnight, killing power in the rental house.

I’d lit candles and worked at the kitchen table while Caleb slept, and when the electricity shuddered back to life a few hours later, I’d turned on the television to newscasters reporting downed lines and damaged grids from Milan to Naples. The storms had evaded all prediction models, and unprecedented temperature fluctuations had produced high winds, hail, and flash floods.

But the airport had power. Emile’s flight was on time.

Which meant Caleb and I had to grab the rental car Stefanos had arranged and head to Fiumicino.

I’d woken Caleb at four-thirty, which had gone about as well as poking a bear in December. He trudged at my side now, hunched inside his gray hoodie with his chin tucked against the drizzle.

Our breath puffed, and the chill clung to my bones. Stars twinkled in a sky just beginning to turn purple. The buildings around us were dark, but not even a powerful storm could thin Rome’s morning traffic. Horns blared, and scooters buzzed past. Red taillights reflected in the wet streets.

“…on purpose,” Caleb muttered.

I leaned forward so I could peer inside his hoodie. “What was that?”

He grunted and retreated deeper into his cotton cave, “Stefanos” and something that sounded very much like “dickfuck” floating from the depths.

I bit the inside of my cheek. He needed food and coffee. A lot of it.

We passed a darkened cafe, a handwritten sign that read “NO POWER” taped to the inside of the door. A line of crows perched on the gutter above the awning lifted into the air as we passed.

On the street corner, a work truck idled under a power line drooping on its pole. Two men in white construction hats shouted to each other as a crane hoisted a third man in a cherry picker over the wire.