Tap tap.
John opened one bleary eye.
Tap tap tap.
The bedroom was suffused with the soft, yellow light of dawn.
Tap. Tap.
Someone was knocking at the door.
"Someone wants you," he murmured to his companion, who was almost entirely obscured by the covers. When she didn't stir, he poked her in the calf with one foot.
"Not for me," she muttered in reply. The strawberry-blonde curls retreated further underneath the blanket.
"It's definitely not for me."
"Sleeping," she growled, voice muffled.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
With a long-suffering sigh, John slid out of bed and looked for his pants. They weren't on the floor. They weren't on the dresser. They weren't even on the chair in the corner.
"Fuck it," he breathed, and strode to the door stark naked. He cracked it open and stuck his face into the gap.
Rhea stared back at him with huge eyes. Her cheeks slowly turned pink.
"Yes?" John asked. Although his tone didn't quite make it to civil, at least it felt short of hostile.
"I-I'm sorry," the acolyte stammered, casting her eyes away from his stubbled chin and bare chest. "I need Lady Cassandra."
"Right. One moment." John shut the door. He stalked back to the bed and pulled the covers off of the woman buried inside.
"No!" she squealed, wrapping her arms over her face. John took a moment to admire her slender legs, her full hips… but he stopped himself before he got too distracted.
"It's Rhea. She says she needs you." He paused dramatically. "It might be an emergency."
Cassie lowered her arms and drowsy blue eyes blinked at him.
"Goddammit," she said, voice hoarse from sleep. "What time is it?"
"Six fifteen," John replied, glancing at the bedside clock. It was almost time for his morning run. "You talk to Rhea, I'll make coffee. Deal?"
"Deal," she sighed, and she slowly sat up. He resumed the search for his pants. Bathroom, he thought belatedly, and poked his head through the door. Jackpot. There they were, crumpled up outside of the shower, along with every other piece of clothing that he and Cassie had been wearing last night. He smiled in self-satisfaction as pulled them back on. Cassie's bathrobe was hanging on the back of the door; he grabbed it and tossed it to her on the bed.
"Thanks," she said mournfully, sliding it on. The plush pink fabric covered her from head to toe, and she tied her belt with the air of a soldier girding his loins before battle. Then she made a face at him.
"You should probably put on a shirt."
"What?" He looked down at his bare chest. "I'm just going to the kitchen."
"Tami told me, and I quote, that your 'incubus abs are driving the girls toward early puberty.'"
"You're joking," he said. Cassie just raised her eyebrows. "Bloody hell," he swore. But he went back to the bathroom and pulled on his wrinkled gray t-shirt.
"Do I pass the dress code?" he asked sourly. Cassie smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then she slapped his ass.
"Coffee!" she said, pointing to the door.
"Vixen," he muttered. As he exited the bedroom, he left the door wide open for Rhea.
"The Pythia is at your service," he told her. She mumbled something that might have been Thank you Mage Pritkin before she scurried inside. John proceeded down the hallway towards the kitchen, bare feet silent on the cold marble floor. The atrium was empty and peaceful, full of golden light reflecting off of the windows and the still pool. He turned the corner and found the kitchen occupied.
Rico and Fred were sitting at the table. Fred was examining a spreadsheet on his open laptop; Rico was drinking a beer.
"Morning, hotshot," Rico said, smirking. Fred hunched his shoulders and pressed his lips into a thin line, obviously trying not to laugh. John stopped in his tracks and contemplated them for a moment. Then he continued toward the cabinets.
"Let the record show that I did not respond," he said drily, pulling out a bag of coffee beans and an electric grinder. Although John was not exactly friends with Cassie's vampires, they had learned to tolerate each other over the past six months. He had never imagined himself living in a frat house of the undead; but neither had he expected to fall in love with a Pythia. There were compromises.
The loud whirr of the grinder precluded any retorts. But once the coffee machine began burbling merrily, Rico started in again.
"I guess someone gave you the 'no shirt, no service' lecture," he said with a broad grin. John counted to five before answering.
"You too, then?" he asked shortly. He gazed longingly at the pitch-black liquid dripping down into the coffee pot. The elixir of life.
"Not necessary," said Rico, shrugging eloquently. "I know how to behave in front of the ragazze."
John shot a pointed glance at the half-finished beer in the vampire's hand.
"Is there a story here?" he said, looking back and forth between the two vampires. Fred's lips twitched suspiciously. "Fred. Out with it."
"Marco found out some of the initiates were having a contest," said the mousy vampire.
Rico's grin widened, and he leaned back in his chair.
"… what kind of contest?" John prompted. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Who could get the most Snapchats of you—topless!" Fred wheezed out the final word and finally dissolved into muffled laughter, holding his hands against his face. Rico was less subtle, letting loose a rolling belly laugh and slapping the kitchen table with one open hand. John could feel the blood drain from his face.
"What the devil is a Snapchat?" he asked, voice hoarse. The vampires just continued chortling and wiping away tears.
"I swear to all the gods that I will stake you both," John said sharply. Rico waved a hand at him, unconcerned.
"It's some stupid thing on their phones," he said breathlessly. "Tami erased it."
John gathered all the shreds of his dignity in one long, deep breath. Then he turned back around and pulled two mugs from the cupboard above him. Silently, he filled them with steaming coffee. He picked them up and left the kitchen wordlessly, refusing to look back at the two amused bodyguards.
The atrium was still quiet, although he could hear footsteps and rustling from the dormitory rooms above him. When he arrived back at Cassie's bedroom, Rhea was rushing out of the double doors. John glowered at her as she passed by and continued to glare as he went through the door and kicked them shut behind him.
"Please let your initiates know," he growled, "that I have a potion that will break them out in boils until they turn twenty-five. And I'm not afraid to use it."
Then he noticed that the Pythia was sitting motionlessly on the edge of the bed, and her eyes were wide as saucers.
"Cassie? What's wrong?" He set her coffee on the nightstand and kneeled down in front of her.
"We have other problems, Pritkin," she said, chewing on her lower lip and staring directly at him.
"Is it bad?" he asked, raising a hand to stroke her thigh.
"It's pretty bad." She hesitated for a long moment before replying.
"I'm going to need you to babysit."