Theodore's POV
Her tail was the first thing I noticed. Uncoiled, loose, almost... playful. It curled around her ankle like a content cat, occasionally giving a soft flick or twitch, betraying the calm she was faking in her expression.
She perched on the middle stool at her kitchen island. Zaire sat directly in front of her, Kaiden opposite, already eyeing the grilled chicken like it insulted his bloodline.
I took the last available stool, near Zaire, pausing just before I sat. I wanted to sit next to her, always wanting to be closer. But people get nervous when I do, and after everything that happened tonight, the last thing she needed was me clouding her senses more than I already did.
Her apartment was warm in a way ours wasn't. Not just temperature, but atmosphere. The walls were painted that soft beige you only notice when warm light hits them, and the shelves were cluttered with random trinkets: little glass ducks, an aggressively pink lava lamp, an honest-to-god cat-shaped clock that blinked with each tick.
As she reached for her spoon, something shifted under the couch. A subtle scrape. Like cloth over hardwood. I looked up instantly, scanning.
Kaiden looked too. Zaire had already paused mid-chew.
Nothing moved.
Kaiden looked ready to go full bloodhound, but it would be rude. We all silently agreed not to spook the host.
"Oh my god, this is delicious," Seraphine declared, chewing delicately but already leaning in for another spoonful.
Tension evaporated.
"Can you share the recipe?"
Zaire smiled, soft and surprisingly fond. "How about a better deal? I'll cook for you."
I blinked.
Kaiden blinked.
Zaire blinked, as if he couldn't believe he'd said that either.
---
Zaire's POV
I glanced across the kitchen island at Kaiden. He was still shooting glances toward the living room couch like it owed him money. I didn't blame him — I'd heard it too. That soft scrape. Fabric dragging over wood. Just once.
We both looked at Theodore. He had his "don't embarrass us" face on.
So we behaved.
Barely.
Instead, I focused back on the woman whose soup spoon was now gently clinking against porcelain. Her brows lifted. "Oh my god, this is delicious," she said, eyes wide, one hand still half-covering her mouth as she chewed.
"Can you share the recipe?"
I smiled, soft and surprisingly fond. "How about a better deal? I'll cook for you."
There. I said it. The words left me before I could stop myself. To late I'll mentally berate myelf later while handing out my business card.
Kaiden and Theo both stared at me as if I'd just announced a wedding. Seraphine blinked again, clearly caught off guard.
"Um…" She looked down at the card. Her fingers brushed against mine, warm and delicate. "I mean… I don't even know you guys. I've had a deeply weird day. You broke into my apartment, saw my tail, and cooked me soup like it's a Tuesday. Who does that?"
"People with good taste in women," Kaiden offered smoothly, holding out his own card like he was auditioning for The Bachelor.
Theo followed silently, placing his on the counter between the pizza box and the soda bottle. His had clean white print and no phone number. Of course.
Seraphine stared at the three cards like they might bite. Then—without a word—stood up and walked off into the hallway.
All of us deflated like synchronized balloons.
---
Kaiden's POV
The moment she left the room, it was like someone deflated the air around us.
"Well," I said, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. "That went great."
Zaire ran a hand over his face and muttered something in Shifter dialect that was probably illegal in most states. Theo just stood there, stoic as ever, but his eyes flicked toward the hallway like he was weighing if we should bolt or barricade ourselves in.
I didn't blame him.
We'd waltzed in like supernatural Jehovah's Witnesses, dropped our business cards like enchanted Tinder profiles, and what did we expect—gratitude? Affection? An invite to stay forever?
But then...
The soft shuffle of slippered feet.
Then she returned.
She paused in the doorway, eyes flicking from the island to the couch… to us.
"No big deal," she muttered under her breath. "Just three walking red flags casually making themselves at home in my kitchen like it's the Home Shopping Network's Daddy Edition."
I almost choked. Zaire covered a laugh with his knuckle. Theo had the audacity to look genuinely hurt.
Her tail betrayed her again, curling tighter around her leg as if it were trying to merge with her calf. A little wag. Just once. Like a happy dog that didn't want to be.
She walked closer, holding her own business card. She leaned awkwardly across the counter, trying not to knock over the creamy pasta. Her tail stretched with her, curling upward like a curious cat.
I took the card, reading:
Seraphine Valak
Owner & Lead Planner
Infernal & Immaculate Affairs
"Crafting Unforgettable Experiences"
Yeah, she definitely did that.
She cleared her throat. "So. Are you guys just… hanging out?"
Theo, recovering first, gently asked, "Would you like to eat with us?"
She sat back down, inspecting the soup.
"Is that…" she leaned over her bowl, "truffle oil?"
Zaire gave her a subtle smile. "Just a hint."
She took a bite. Moaned softly.
We all shifted in our seats as if that sound personally offended our self-control.
"This is incredible," she said between spoonfuls. "I don't suppose you'll actually tell me how you pulled this off with what I had?"
"Seasoning," Zaire replied smoothly. "And spite."
Her laughter filled the kitchen.
And just like that, the air warmed.
Theo finally relaxed enough to sit, shoulders easing. I caught him watching her tail again—how it loosened, flopping to the side of her stool. Wag. Wag.
Okay, that was cute. Alarmingly cute.
And a little dangerous.
She glanced up mid-bite and caught us staring.
"What?"
I grinned. "You wagged."
"I did not!"
"Tail doesn't lie," Zaire muttered under his breath.
"Oh my God." She smacked a hand over her face. "Just eat. Pretend none of this happened."
So we did.
Sort of.
The rest of dinner was surprisingly... normal.
The kitchen looked like a post-party feast: pizza boxes open, cheesecake already half gone, and pasta steaming in mismatched bowls. Theodore moved toward the sink to grab more utensils, trying to look casual. I knew he wasn't. His ears were tilted—subtle alert mode.
---
A Few Minutes Later…
I stretched my legs under the island, nudging Seraphine's accidentally. She tensed for a millisecond. Her tail whipped once against the stool leg.
"Okay, okay," I said. "Let's play a game."
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "You're lucky you're hot, or I'd punch you for that sentence."
I grinned. "Dinner Table Confessions. The rules are simple. We all say one thing no one here knows about us."
"No thanks," she said, sipping soda. "I already shared enough tonight. Like the contents of my stomach and every shred of my dignity."
Zaire leaned forward. "First job?"
"Nice try."
Zaire sipped his water. "My first job was babysitting a cursed chicken."
She blinked. "That... sounds fake."
"It wasn't. She exploded whenever someone lied."
I nearly choked on my pasta.
Then Seraphine snorted.
I wiped fake tears from his eyes. "I'm going to frame that quote."
Seraphine looked at me, eyes glinting. "Your turn."
"I once mistook a vampire's glamored coat rack for an assassin and punched it."
She lost it, practically wheezing.
We were all laughing now, chaotic and easy. For the first time, she didn't seem guarded. She even leaned forward on the counter, elbows tucked in, posture relaxed.
"I take it back. This game has potential."
Theo added, "I'm afraid of balloons."
Everyone turned.
"They pop unpredictably," Theo muttered.
I grinned. "I hate lemons."
Seraphine looked personally attacked. "How dare you. Lemon bars? Lemonade? Lemon meringue cheesecake?"
He shrugged. "Acidic lies in fruit form."
"You're all weird," she muttered.
Then she raised a brow. "Okay, big shots. First heartbreak?"
We all fell silent.
Zaire's jaw ticked slightly, but he said nothing.
I shrugged. "Never had one. No one's held my attention that long." Then I looked at her. "Until now."
Seraphine choked.
Theo sipped soda as if it had answers. "Does a cat ignoring me count?"
She snorted. "Absolutely."
Seraphine gave a tiny smile, killing it fast. Then she jabbed her fork at me. "So what do you think I do?"
I grinned. "Wedding planner for serial killers."
"Close."
She didn't elaborate.
I wasn't sure I wanted her to.
Just as we were reaching for more cheesecake—Theo's phone buzzed.
He glanced down. Eyes narrowed.
"Security ping. I'll be back." He grabbed his jacket and disappeared into the hallway.
I watched him go, and then noticed Zaire wandering toward the sink.
"Water?"
"Sure," Seraphine said.
Zaire turned on the tap. Then paused.
There, resting delicately in her drying rack, was something unexpected: a tail comb. Not a brush. Not a styling tool. Instead, it was a specific, curved, enchanted-tooth tail comb—rare, expensive, and used only by Succubi.
Zaire picked it up gently, studied it, then, without comment, set it back in place.
He returned with her water.
And said nothing.
---
Later, after dessert was demolished…
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. "So. You want us gone after dinner? Or… you cool with couch-crashing?"
Seraphine's face didn't change. "Do whatever you want."
I raised an eyebrow. "That felt passive-aggressive."
Her eyes narrowed. "That was passive-aggressive."
Zaire stood first. "Couch is fine by me."
I snagged a pillow off her couch and hugged it. "Shotgun the big throw pillow."
Seraphine made a sound between a groan and a sigh.
Her tail slapped the floor. Hard.
We all noticed.
We didn't say a word.
---
Seraphine's POV
I didn't know what was worse.
The fact that I was letting three supernatural strangers lounge in my kitchen, or the fact that my tail was behaving as if it had a crush.
It kept wagging. Not dramatically, not happy-puppy style. Just these soft little flicks. The kind that meant it was trying to hide how pleased it was.
I could feel them watching it every time it moved.
Betrayal.
And now one of them — Zaire, apparently — was wiping down the counter like he lived here. Kaiden leaned against my fridge as if he'd claimed it in the name of shirt-stretching and testosterone. Theo's absence was oddly noticeable. Like the room shifted without him in it.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," I muttered, stacking a few dishes, "but you can stay the night. Just... don't touch my ducks."
Kaiden blinked. "That's a hell of a sentence out of context."
Zaire raised an eyebrow. "Rubber, decorative, or sentient?"
"Mostly rubber. Some have backstories."
He nodded solemnly. "Understood."
Kaiden threw himself dramatically across the couch and grabbed the remote like he'd done it a hundred times. "Dibs on the weird soap operas."
Zaire brushed past me to put something in the trash. His arm grazed mine—warm, strong. It felt intentional, but also not.
He looked down at me then. Just… saw me.
"You okay?" he asked, voice quieter than before. "Not just your head. You."
Something in me wobbled.
I wanted to lie. Deflect. Crack a joke about therapy and duck collections.
Instead, I just nodded. Once.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm—"
Knock knock knock.
I jumped. Kaiden stood. Zaire turned toward the door, suddenly alert. And I just knew—this night wasn't done with me yet.