Donovan and Ezekiel couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. Oh, they are damn near identical and favor the same dapper style, constantly overdressing for everything. But that’s where the similarities end. The sweet kid Ezekiel used to be burned away over the last near-decade, leaving the monster he is now. He’s our monster, but I’m aware enough to call a spade a spade.
Donovan reacted to our exile in a very different way. Instead of grasping so tightly to whatever he values the way the rest of us do, he grasps on to nothing at all. He moves through life, carried by the force of his whims and sense of humor. It boggles my mind.
We’re nearly done when a woman walks into the courtyard. She’s tall and built like a tank, and she’s wearing a muscle T-shirt and basketball shorts. It takes me a few moments to recognize her. Sonya, the self-appointed bodyguard to Donovan’s Bride, Mabel. No one was happy that she tagged along that first night, but she’s kept her head down and hasn’t caused trouble since, so her presence is tolerated. That doesn’t explain why she’s here.
Donovan gives an easy grin when he sees her. “You’re late.”
“Sorry. Mabel lost track of time talking with Rae. She’s not feeling well, and they had some suggestions. And then they got to talking and…you know how it goes.”
Is she blushing?
I exchange a look with Ezekiel. He doesn’t seem inclined to jump in, so I clear my throat. “Is she sick?” If she is, that will complicate things, especially if it’s serious. Mabel is one of our Brides. Her health and safety are paramount to maintaining the Bridal peace.
Sonya opens her mouth, but it’s Donovan who answers breezily. “Just menstruation stuff. She has nasty monthlies, and I thought Rae might have some suggestions to help.”
“Jesus, there’s more than one of them right now?” This from Cohen, low enough that I don’t think he intended me to hear it.
I’ll focus on that later. I frown at Donovan. “Since when do you know a single fucking thing about periods?”
“Since my Bride has one.”
I guess technically, my Bride has one as well. I haven’t seen evidence of it yet, but I’ve also spent most of the past three weeks avoiding her. Not that it matters one way or another. I learned enough to be helpful to Shiloh when she was feeling like garbage because of her body’s cycle. But Donovan has never been particularly close to any of the menstruating people in our group. “You sent her to Rae, though?”
Rae is the doctor Harlow brought into the compound after Eli took a bullet for Abel. And then they…never left. Not that I’m complaining. It’s useful having a doctor around, and best I can tell, Rae is brilliant. I think I heard Harlow say that they were a prodigy back in the day. I don’t understand how someone used to be a prodigy, but having a doctor on the compound has already come in handy.
Even if they are a giant pain in the ass with an attitude problem.
Really, Rae fits right in.
Donovan shrugged. “Mabel said that level of pain is normal for her, but it seems kind of extreme. It’s not like the Mystics have much in the way of real doctors over there. They’re more likely to shove a crystal up your ass and send you on your way.”
“Donovan.”
He grins at Sonya, completely unrepentant. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“The Mystics have plenty of healers.” She tries to glare at him, but her lips curve a little.
“Healers, not doctors. Rae has a fucking medical degree. They didn’t just wake up one day, check the stars, and decide they knew a single damn thing about human bodies.”
This conversation has the feel of well-tread ground, which means it could go on for some time. I stride over to where we left our phones and check the time. I have to go if I’m going to make it to Amazon territory in time to pick up Monroe and Shiloh at the end of the day. “I’ll catch you all later.”
Cohen walks with me into the house. He doesn’t speak until we climb the stairs and approach my room. “You taking care of the Monroe problem?”
“Yeah. I’ve got it covered.” It’s even the truth. Really, I should thank Abel for being such a fucking asshole about this, because he’s paved the way for me to take what I want. I have to, after all. For the greater good of the territory and the Raider faction.
I’m a fucking liar.
I duck into the bedroom and take a quick shower. I made a few trips this morning from the room I was essentially squatting in and this one, transferring my stuff back into the closet. Or at least a corner of the closet available. Between Monroe’s stuff and Shiloh’s stuff, there isn’t much space.
I take slightly more care in dressing than I would normally. A navy suit with a crisp white button-down. I could blame it on being about to enter enemy territory, but the truth is that I want to look good for my women.
My women.
Calling either of them mine feels strange and not entirely accurate. But it’s not not accurate, either. What we have is messy in the extreme, but I’m enjoying it despite myself.
Driving out of the compound feels strange. I don’t leave the walled space that often. Abel runs the territory. Cohen runs our forces. Donovan, Ezekiel, Finnegan, and Gabriel all have smaller responsibilities geared in different specialties. Things are a little different now that Abel has Harlow and Eli as Brides. Harlow has become his Bride wrangler. Eli is his bridge between the past eight years of absence and our presence here now.
And me? I run the household.
I source shit we need, ensure things function as they should, and problem-solve where there are problems needing solved. I keep track of my brothers, ensure they’re all where they’re supposed to be, that no
