22

KILLIAN “What the fuck is this? Shitting on my parade day?” I don’t pause at Nikolai’s voice on my way inside the mansion. Instead, I reach the fridge and grab a bottle of water. He throws the nearest object he can find at me, a Zippo, and I tilt my head to the side, letting it collide with the bottle of vodka. It shatters against the counter in a ceremony of glass and liquor. “I’m assuming you’ll clean it up and replace my vodka,” Jeremy says from the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. “It’s my vodka. Fuck off.” My cousin shoves an ice pack on his swollen jaw and props his foot on the edge of the sofa. Leaning against the counter, I cross my legs at the ankle. “Bad mood?” “And you’re not? That loser won against you.” I lift a shoulder. “I won something better than a meaningless match.” Like Glyndon’s company and even a temporary truce from fighting me once she was watching those fireflies—and I wasn’t touching her. She eventually relaxed once I forced my hand to remain still. Somethi