Seraphine POV
"Are you camping outside my damn door?"
I didn't bother with subtlety. My glare burned across the faces of the three men currently lingering near me in the chair like oversized, overbred raccoons who got caught chewing on something expensive.
None of them met my eyes.
They all looked away at the same time — down at the floor, the wall, the ceiling. Guilty. Like puppies who'd shredded the couch and knew they were too pretty to yell at for long.
It was the exact same expression all the other men who stomped through my front door were wearing. Uninvited. Invasive. Somewhat attractive. Extremely annoying.
My apartment looked like a fever dream. Pillows everywhere. Furniture dragged to the corners. A half-melted candle by a suspicious-looking rotisserie chicken. Blankets that smelled like fear. And now? About a dozen idiots trying to pretend they had a reason to be here.
I glanced at each group. Yes. Groups. Plural.
---
Vivien was locked in a cold war of sarcasm with her own small crowd.
"I don't need your help, Leo. And I'm not cold," she spat, brushing imaginary lint from her shoulder.
"Yes, my dear. But I freely give it," the man replied, sounding every bit the patient bastard with a superiority complex.
Vivien scowled, but let him slip the coat over her shoulders. Just when she thought it was over, he dipped down and kissed her temple like some smug royal.
She immediately swatted his hand.
"If you don't button that coat," the Incubus next to him purred, "I'll take it as enthusiastic consent for us to take you here and now."
The dragon shifter beside him grunted in agreement like that was somehow a normal statement.
Vivien rolled her eyes so hard I thought she'd sprain something — then yanked the coat shut and tied it like a monk taking a vow.
---
Next: Vixzen.
Poor girl was actively drowning in coats.
"How the hell did you track me?! I left no trail!" she hissed, trying to pry herself free of a parka sleeve like it was trying to eat her.
The men around her — three, maybe four — all gave the same smug shrug.
"We have our methods," said a green-haired fae and a flower literally bloomed behind one of vixzens ear. Actually, all had wild-colored hair that screamed feral fae court. One had long blue hair braided down to his waist, the other had glowing ember streaks and glowing tattoos.
The fourth? Slicked-back black hair, dark skin, golden rings and a stare that could compete with Zaire in a GQ: Assassin Edition photoshoot.
Vixzen, for once, looked rattled. Like she was remembering all the things she couldn't have.
She stopped struggling. "You all made it clear before," she mumbled, hurt sneaking into her voice. "So why pretend now?"
The guys went quiet. Just…stood there. Like their very existence had been put on pause.
---
And then: Liora.
She looked more exhausted than she did last night — and that's saying something.
Wrapped in one of the blanket fort quilts, she sat criss-cross on the floor like a grumpy cryptid with a bouquet of purple hyacinths in her lap. Her hair was a mess. Her eyeliner was still flawless. And two snake shifters stood behind her — arguing.
"I'm telling you, my coat is thicker," one hissed.
"Yes, but mine matches her aura," the other retorted.
She just sighed and stared at the flowers like she was wondering if eating them would end her suffering.
---
And then there was me.
Three men. All standing around me like I was a high-profile senator under threat of assassination.
One to the left. One to the right. One behind.
I clapped my hands. Twice. Loudly.
"OKAY," I said. "What. The. Fuck. Are you all doing here?"
The room went silent.
Utterly, painfully, brain-cell-destroyingly silent.
I could actually see the gears in these men's heads slowing down. Panic. Alarm. Confusion. All trying to form a coherent lie at the same time like they were auditioning for a play called "We're Definitely Not Stalkers, Please Love Us."
I turned to glance at the trio nearest to me.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
Did they think I was their girl?
I hadn't even finished processing the thought when the Incubus — because of course it was him — stepped into the center of the room with a full smile.
"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE FOR US MEN," he said grandly.
He walked with the confidence of a man who sold both love potions and legal consulting. He stopped, turned to face all of us like he was about to present a quarterly review, and said:
"We would like to apologize to you lovely ladies for whatever we said, did, or made you feel. We turn to complete blithering idiots when you're around. Hence we can't think straight, which—though is no excuse—led to some very poor decisions. We hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive us. And maybe, one day, remember us… fondly."
He finished with a bow.
A goddamn bow.
Every man in the room gave a low grunt, nod, or muttered apology in sync.
---
I blinked.
And then I laughed.
Like… really laughed.
My body folded. My knees gave out. My ribs hurt from laughing.
And that, apparently, was all the permission Vixzen needed to start wheezing on the floor.
Vivien? Smirked. Liora? Snorted like a broken teapot.
We were surrounded by supernatural men with the emotional intelligence of concussed golden retrievers.
And somehow?
It kind of made sense.
—
Vixzen wiped tears from her cheeks, still giggling. "You—he actually bowed. I haven't seen a man bow since that vampire at the opera tried to flirt with her using Shakespeare."
"He quoted Macbeth," Vivien deadpanned. "While trying to sell her bootleg champagne."
"Tragic," Liora muttered. "Still had better game than some of these guys."
"Alright," I said, still catching my breath. "Great. Apologies noted. Sincerity questionable."
The Incubus gave a theatrical flourish of his hand. "I assure you, all parts of me are sincere."
"Gross," Vivien muttered.
"Not what I meant," he added, clearly lying.
I held up a hand. "Let's just… rewind. You—" I pointed vaguely toward the crowd of men cluttering my very lived-in apartment, "—decided to storm a woman's home. Uninvited. After midnight. And some of you brought flowers, coats, and vaguely threatening amounts of testosterone."
"Also snacks," someone piped up helpfully, holding up a paper bag like a peace offering.
"Okay, points for snacks," I admitted.
Zaire, still standing close behind me like a bodyguard, finally spoke. "We… weren't planning this. It just happened."
"Uh huh." I squinted at him. "Like a blackout, or pregnancy."
He actually flinched. Good.
Vivien took a long sip of tea. "We'll need a spreadsheet to figure out who belongs to which disaster at this point."
"Color-code them," Liora suggested, twirling a hyacinth. "By emotional damage and delusion level."
"I get green," one of the fae called. "For growth."
Vixzen snorted. "You get yellow. For caution tape."
The room began to relax, the tension shifting into something weirdly… manageable. Still chaotic, but now familiar.
Like a tornado that politely asked if it could rearrange your furniture.
I clapped again. "Alright. Ground rules. If any of you want to continue existing near our vicinity, you follow them."
The men immediately straightened, expressions turning solemn. Obedient. Hopeful.
"We're listening," said the dragon shifter near Vivien.
"First," I said, "no more breaking down doors."
"They were unlocked," Kaiden muttered.
"They're broken now," I shot back. "Pay for them."
"Done," three voices replied in eerie unison.
"Second," Vivien said coolly, "no flirtation without consent. Verbal. Clear. Informed."
"Even the good kind?" the Incubus asked.
She leveled him with a look.
He nodded. "Even the good kind."
"Third," Liora added, "if you're going to bring flowers, make sure they don't have magical pollen. I will hex you into a squirrel."
One of the snake shifters looked alarmed and shuffled the bouquet behind his back.
"Fourth," Vixzen said cheerfully, "if anyone touches my ears without asking, I'll bite."
A pause.
The one with slicked-back hair raised his hand. "Promise?"
She threw a cushion at him.
"Fifth," I said, folding my arms. "None of you — none of you — get to act like you own us. Or that we owe you a single goddamn thing. You want to be near us? Then you better start by acting like you belong beside us, not above us."
Zaire was quiet. He didn't nod. But I saw the flicker of understanding cross his face.
Kaiden nodded once. "Fair."
Theodore added softly, "Understood."
I looked at each of them. Carefully. Slowly.
"Any objections?"
A beat of silence.
Then the Incubus gave another bow — this time lower, softer. "None."
"Good," Vivien said, standing. "Now someone clean the floor. There's still chicken grease on the summoning circle."
Liora groaned. "I knew that chicken was cursed."
Someone muttered, "I still think it worked."
"No," I said. "Absolutely not. We're not starting a chicken cult."
"...unless it gets us rent reductions?" Vixzen asked.
---
We were, against all odds, beginning to settle into something dangerously close to… civilized.
The men shifted to one side of the room like they were waiting for a bus driven by our approval. Some of them had clearly never stood still this long in their entire lives. The incubus tried to flirt with the toaster. One of the snake shifters offered to fix the broken door with "serpent craftsmanship" (which we all agreed sounded illegal). And Zaire… hadn't moved from behind me.
"Do you plan on standing there all night?" I asked him.
"Possibly," he said. "I'm evaluating risks."
"Of what? Cursed poultry?"
He didn't answer.
Kaiden had migrated to the kitchen and was inspecting the summoning circle like it owed him money. "I'm ninety percent sure this isn't even a real ritual," he muttered, tapping the dried lipstick with a pen.
"It was technically a romantic summoning," Vixzen said proudly. "With chicken."
Vivien raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying we fast-tracked supernatural dating via rotisserie?"
"No comment," Vixzen grinned.
Someone knocked.
We all froze.
No one had knocked tonight. All entrances thus far had involved chaos, screaming, or fae teleportation.
The knock came again. Three short taps. Precise. Intentional.
I glanced at Vivien. She nodded once, reaching for her dagger.
Zaire stepped forward like he was about to body-check the door.
Another knock. Then a voice.
"Hi, sorry to interrupt."
We blinked.
The door creaked open just an inch. A head poked through — distinctly human, very confused.
A teen in a pizza delivery hat.
He blinked at the sea of men, supernatural women in robes and lingerie, and a defiled chicken in the middle of a demonic circle.
"…Did someone order a double cheese, no garlic, extra regret?"
I pointed at Vixzen.
She raised both hands. "Don't look at me. I specifically asked for stuffed crust and a demonic awakening."
---