Exported [Book 3 in the Expiring Series]

25 Dramatic Much?

Colton~~

We arrive at the safe house around four in the afternoon. It's a picturesque stone cabin, surrounded by overgrown purple flowers. I'd like to know where Erik's sudden fixation on flowers came from. My cousin pulls the car around back, out of sight of the dirt road. No other cars are parked here. Which means Andrew isn't here.

Once inside, I find the cabin is no more than three rooms: a bathroom, a bedroom, and then kitchen that opens onto a living room.

Bently and Iris fight each other to be the first to use the shower, both covered in small streaks of blood from the glass that now lies strewn across Erik's backseat.

Iris stomps on Bently's foot, and my cousin, cringing, stepping back, and Iris slips into the bathroom, slamming the door.

"You going in after her?" Erik asks him.

The shower flicks on.

Bently inspects a cut on his arm, his expression disinterested. "I don't think Jonas would approve." Erik's not going to get the rise he wants out of him.

The former Tresais walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge. "Where is Jonas anyway? Beer?" He holds up two clear bottles filled with an amber beer.

I simply decline while Bently says, "I prefer not to drink when the French could be smashing down the door shortly."

Erik puts one of the beers back and shuts the door and throws Bently a grin. "That's half the fun of it."

An unlit fireplace is in the corner of the living room, a blanket folded up beside the hearth. My eyes burn as if I were staring into flames, and they feel heavy. I doubt Erik is going to let us take the bed.

"Jonas should be on Amoria by now," I say.

"Amoria?" Erik furrows his eyebrows and pops off the bottle's lid. "Why would he be on Amoria?"

"Erik, they're engaged," I say with a look at the bathroom door.

"I saw the ring."

Bently settles down on one of three barstools. "He has to get permission to marry her."

Erik rolls his eyes. "Can he do anything without permission?"

"He's the leader of the Society." I pull out a chair from the small kitchen table, angling it toward them and sitting down.

"Exactly. He's the one who should be making the rules, not following them."

"We don't have the luxury of running away from our duties." Bently's tone is lower by the end of his sentence.

Erik takes a long drink. "So, what's this about Abella being your girlfriend?" Erik's tone is much lighter, curious, mocking.

"Nothing." Bently returns to inspecting the cut on his arm, his expression only slightly more interested. "Colton was just being dramatic."

Erik laughs. "Good. I wouldn't want to see the pretty French princess break my beloved cousin's heart."

Bently flinches but doesn't look up.

"Why would you say that?" I ask, my voice filled with curiosity, no trace of mockery to be found—I think.

"According to the press, she's been having a torrid relationship with some prime minister's daughter."

For some reason my stomach tightens into a knot, and my eyes are drawn to Bently.

"You knew?" Erik asks him.

Bently nods slowly. "I found out last night. They had broken up, but they're getting back together." His voice is steady until the end. Did a woman finally capture a part of his heart only to rip it from him? Bently has to marry soon. And it isn't as if he and Abella likely could have married. We'd have to take Abella into our confidence, tell her about the Amoris, and the moment she did, she'd tell her brother.

Bently looks up from his cut and asks about the girl that was on Erik's couch. Erik shrugs, saying he met her last night.

The shower shuts off, and Bently mutters, "Finally."

Iris curses, and Erik's at the door before any of us.

"Iris, are you okay?" He rattles the handle. Dramatic much, Erik?

She curses again. "Yes—err, no it's—" The door opens a crack, and Erik pushes it open the rest of the way, ready to fight off any intruders. Iris holds up the yellow towel wrapped around her, her cheeks flaming. She looks more angry than embarrassed. "My clothes have glass on them."

Erik doesn't say anything. He just stares. A hint of pink colors his cheeks.

"Erik," I snap.

Without saying a word, he heads into the bedroom. Bently and Iris exchange a look, but I can't decipher it. Erik returns with a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. Iris takes them and shuts the door.

Bently opens his mouth, but Erik stalks off, muttering under his breath.