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“Do you want a weapon? I mean, I think that will backfire, but it might help save you if they go for you.”
“I think I can handle a few chickens, baby,” he told her.
“I hope so. Just if they rush at you, protect your balls.”
He gaped at her. “What?”
“They like to attack your crotch. Mass attack on your balls . . . it isn’t pretty.”
She was fairly sure she saw him gulp and she couldn’t hold back her giggles.
“You little brat. You’re teasing me.”
“Of course I am. You should see your face. You look so worried.”
“You’re the one that should be worried, brat,” he grumbled. “I’m keeping track of this and one day, you’ll pay the piper.”
Ooh, she was so scared.
She didn’t say that, though. She wasn’t an idiot.
Also, she really wanted to know how exactly she was going to pay the piper.
“Have you got something for me to put the eggs in?” he asked.
“Yep. Here.” She searched through a cupboard and pulled out a pink basket with white daisies around it.
“Is this another joke?”
“Nope, it isn’t. Loki has tried using other baskets, but the she-demons didn’t like it. They only like this one.”
“You are aware they’re just chickens.”
“Shh.” She glanced around warily. “You can’t call them chickens.”
He looked heavenward.
“Are you praying for patience?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I get it. Those she-demons are a lot to deal with.”
“Yes. It’s the chickens trying my patience.”
Wasn’t that just what she’d said? She had no idea why he was repeating it. But perhaps he was stressed.
“It’s not every day you risk your life to get eggs,” she muttered.
He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not risking my life. They’re chickens. Nothing more.”
Poor, deluded Remy.
He’d soon find out.
“You stay in here,” he commanded as he grabbed his boots and jacket.
She would have argued, but she didn’t want the chickens to see her. They only really liked Loki.
