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Amusement flickers in his eyes. “Can you procure more?”
I think about the portal stone in my room.
“None of this is relevant,” I return. “You Sluagh canflickeranywhere you want.”
“Flicker?”
“Like Fox did earlier when he abandoned me in our rooms.”
A deathly chill enters the air. Legion’s stoic features grow stormy.
“He left you in his room knowing there was no way out?”
“As if you care. Why are you acting weird about this?” I shovel a forkful of spinach into my mouth, then mumble through a mouthful, “Finch and Cricket figured I was trapped.”
I stop chewing when Legion abruptly gets to his feet and buttons his coat.
“You’re late for training.” He scowls. “And you have terrible table manners.”
Then he walks out.
Bodin sighs heavily and sinks in his chair, sprawling long, powerful legs beneath the table. His eyes close as if trying to be patient, but then he collects the piles of paper and stands.
“Don’t forget the Holly King’s feast on Feyday eve,” he grumbles. “We’ll arrange for more fitting attire.”
“Good,” I shoot back, surprising him. “Your baby dragon ate my panties. I’ll need more of those too.”
It’s the least they can do.
At Bodin’s silence, I lift my gaze, expecting him to be a bewildered fool at my crudeness, just as Fox was after glimpsing my naked rear end. The impact of his open desire knocks the breath from my lungs. Surely he’s not... All I want to do isscrape my hair back over my face but resist the urge. Instead, I nervously lick my lips.
His gaze drops there, and a flutter low in my groin sparks more of that heat Fox had kindled earlier. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him, to any of them. But Bodin is something else. His long dark lashes are so thick, I’m jealous. Worse, I want to feel them fluttering against my skin as he traces his lips along it. A shiver wracks my spine, giving me the strength to avert my gaze.
The weight of his attention lasts another torturous heartbeat, and then he stalks out, the papers crushed in his fists.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
WILLOW
When my father wished for me to find something useful to do, I thought of coming to Avorlorna and killing the Six. But everything is being turned upside down. Manabeeze are called wisps, and it’s against the law to keep them. Baby Hunt is in danger. I live in a castle that changes structure nightly.
I stabbed Fox, and he welcomed it.
And Bodin. That heat.
I’m so filled with sexual confusion that I forget Varen is still here until his cutlery chinks as he moves a fork. His jaw and the sides of his head are freshly shaven. I can’t imagine he’d have the wits to do it himself, which means one of the others did. My brow furrows at the thought of one of them carefully attending to him.
Varen’s blue-black straight hair is swept from his forehead. His suit is casual yet elegant—black with blue embroidery and a skull emblem over his breast pocket. Our gazes clash. I almost think I see recognition, but he smiles tentatively and gestures to his untouched plate of food.
“Drone bees do not collect pollen or nectar from flowers,” he announces. “Instead, they rely fully on worker bees to feed them.”
“Um... okay.” What is this? Does he want me to feed him?
His lips flatten at my perplexed expression, and tension creeps into his tone. “Bee bread is a mixture of pollen and honey. This is not bee bread.”
I don’t know what to say, so take another mouthful of food.
