Silver Crown | Book 1

Chapter Ten

Ryan was quick to response, his lips moving just as desperately as Brendon's was. He didn't care that Dallon was there. He didn't care about the colour of the blood pounding through their veins. He didn't care about the pain in his arm. He didn't care that he'd almost been strangled to death hours ago.

All that he cared about was the fire burning inside of him.

The kiss was anything but gentle, leaving the two to pull away sooner than they would have liked. Ryan was taking up a majority of the bed as he lay there recovering. The one relationship he had never made it to the kissing stage, so this was all new and absolutely wonderful to him.

"I think he liked it," Brendon said, the pride in his voice plainly obvious.

Dallon snorted. "Course he did."

"Wait. You're not mad?" Ryan asked as he slowly sat up.

"Why would I be?" Dallon responded as he sifted through the snacks on the table.

"So you're not. . . . Never mind." Ryan shook his head.

"Look, Ry." Dallon sat next to him, gently taking Ryan's face in his hands. "If Brendon wants to kiss you he can. If he wants to kiss me he can. If you want to kiss either of us, both of us, of none of us you can. Okay?"

"Okay."

Dallon smiled and went to stand up; however, Ryan gripped his shirt and pulled him close. "You look a little left out," he said and kissed him.

It was nothing like Brendon's which was needy and rough, but it was nice nonetheless. While Ryan was sure Dallon could be just as aggressive as Brendon, he liked the contrast.

When they pulled away, Ryan noticed the flush of silver hit Dallon's cheeks—he was blushing. He looked up into those stunning blue eyes and smiled.

"I trust you," Ryan said. "One hundred percent. With everything."

Little did he know just how much that meant to Dallon.

*

"Frank's coming," Brendon said as they ate breakfast in subdued silence.

After a peaceful night locked away together the trio had to face the reality of what happened after the party and what it meant.

The attack put a whole new spin on everything; House Weekes couldn't be blamed for it this time—why would they attack one of their own where there was so few of them left?

"Who's Frank?" Ryan asked.

"The king," Dallon answered without looking up from his newspaper.

"The king? You mean? Really?"

"Yes. But you'll be upstairs."

"Why?"

Brendon set down his fork while Dallon set his paper aside. They shared that look again before Dallon nodded.

"What happened at the party was something that's not supposed to happen. And, um, this is serious. We don't want you getting mixed up in it," Brendon said. He was toeing around what he really wanted to say, Ryan could tell.

"Do you mean the attack or what I did?"

"You didn't—"

"Then who did?" Ryan shouted. "We all know for a fact it was me, so why don't we just say it?!"

"Ryan, please." Dallon reached towards him, and Ryan let himself be pulled into a hug.

"What's wrong with me?"

"We don't know, but we're going to figure it out, okay? Right now isn't the time. Frank's coming to ask us questions, and we want to keep you safe. You said you trusted us."

"I do," Ryan muttered. "I just, everything's so different."

Brendon had made his way over and ran his fingers through Ryan's hair. He knew how much Ryan liked it and how it soothed him.

"And it'll all work out. We promise."

After breakfast, Dallon carried Ryan upstairs and into the master bedroom. He deposited Ryan on the bed and with a kiss on the nose he was gone.

Ryan wasn't that worried anymore; the distance that had been out between him and the dinning room had definitely calmed him down. Dallon and Brendon's promise that he wouldn't be bothered had helped with that too. After all, he'd been paraded around by the two most of the evening, so it was obvious he would need to be questioned.

Dallon had come up with the excuse that Ryan was traumatised by the event and wasn't in any place to answer questions. They had also decided Ryan had gone up stairs with Dallon after the first attack, not knowing about the second one.

That left a body with an unknown killer, but Silvers weren't ones to question it if it meant another attacker was gone. None of them would ever want justice for a low, pathetic Red.

Ryan cringed at that though. The Red he killed—something he surprising came to terms with—had called him a traitor. That means they'd known he was a Red, and he hadn't told Brendon or Dallon.

The thought was pushed from his mind once there was a knock on the door.

"Come in?"

The door opened and a Red girl came in, set a tray on the nearest table, and scurried out of the room. The sheet of paper that had been sitting on it fluttered to the ground, and Ryan curiously swept it off the floor, ignoring the sweet smelling coffee and pastries.

The servant's stairwell, today, eleven o'clock.

It wasn't Brendon's writing. Nor Dallon's. They were too occupied with the king to have written this. But maybe it was something they'd asked a Red to do because they were busy.

Ryan set the note aside and turned his attention to the coffee.

Patiently, he watched the time tick away, waiting for eleven to roll around. He had worried for a moment about them meaning eleven at night; however it wouldn't hurt to go at both times. If he saw something he shouldn't he'd pretend to be surprised. Ryan couldn't bear to imagine the sad look on Dallon's face if he knew Ryan had accidently saw whatever it is they were planning.

He stuffed his feet into a pair of shoes and crept out the door. He'd be back before anyone knew he was gone.