“I don’t kiss anyone’s ass, but I sure as hell have standards,” I say, sweeping out an arm to indicate her lack of them.
“I have standards,” her voice becomes shrill, and she fists her hands. “I choose to stand on my own two feet and earn my way.”
“You just walked away from all the money and comfort to live like this?” My confusion deepens.
Red stomps backupto the kitchen to remove the whistling kettle.
“Forget it, you wouldn’t understand,” she mutters angrily.
I risk falling through the floor by crossing up to her. “Explain it to me,” I say, stepping close until Red is forced to turn and tilt her head back to look at me. I tell myself it’s necessary to be this close so I can breathe in her sweet scent instead of the barrage of odors from her furniture.
She still wears a defensive glower but says. “I’m a magic dud, okay?”
If she expects a reaction, she won’t get one.
Apparently, my senses didn’t mislead me. They usually don’t, but it’s still hard to believe the infamous Grandma would spawn a relative devoid of magic. Eloise Rogers was the first person to infuse foods with magic enough to share with humans. But more than that, she knows how to scale her businesses.
She developed her own brand of magic flours and baking spices, available in many markets. Eloise Rogers owns a number of farms with crops she has magically infused that return every season with the same powerful properties. Which means Grandma’s House and Magic Morsels are brands that will long outlive her. But only Grandma’s House has access to the certain ingredients that go into making Magic Morsels. She simultaneously created and cornered a market.
It isn’t that crazy that a Level Five mage sired a Level Four daughter. The dossier stated Eloise Rogers’s daughter, Samantha Rogers, died in a car crash some twenty years ago. No picture was attached, only a list of stats. Her talent involved helping develop other people’s magic abilities. Most mages of her ilk usually end up as professors or managers. And she was in fact, studying to be a teacher.
But to have that much familial power dribble down to a dud of a grandchild? That’s unusual. There was no mention of Red whatsoever, and even using my own sources, I could not find her background. And that means there is no record of a father or his race or breeding.
What could cancel out so much power?
“I flunked out of Fairy Fine Arts Academy, okay?” Red’s hand grips the countertop as if bracing herself. “Everyone thought I would rise to the power of my grandmother, that I would be the most powerful legacy of all, but no matter what test I underwent, how much I tried, I have zero, zippo, zilch magic.” Fury brims in her eyes but I can tell she only directs it at herself.
She sets her rear against the counter and crosses her arms. “Gigi didn’t exile me. In fact, she was really nice about it.” Red’s hand disappears in her sweatshirt sleeve as she wipes at her eyes.
“It was everyone else who was fucking awful. Humans think that FFA is all milk, honey, and power. But it’s a hellhole and I was glad to leave it. Those insufferable legacies who were born into billions of dollars and all the magic they could want have zero conscience, and I never want to be anything like them. So I left. I left it all behind to start a new life, one I built myself.”
She glances at me before closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with her still sleeve covered hand. “I don’t know why I’m justifying this to you,” she sighs.
When did my throat get so tight? I concentrate on the redhead next to me, resisting the intense urge to wrap my arms around her.
The pain she experienced at FFA, I want to know it, touch it. Because it might be similar to my own, and knowing we both . . .
I take a step back.
This is too much. I’m in danger of actually caring about this girl.
For witchtits’ sake I met her mere hours ago, there is no accounting for this.
Okay, so I immediately fucked her on her grandma’s bed. Maybe that’s what has got my head all mixed up.
But I’m going to destroy her world, so I better stop being so interested in it. No more questions. I’ve never had a second thought before completing a kill, and I can’t afford any sympathies.
I can’t afford to brush that fallen hair from her bun back from her face as I tilt her chin up to kiss those pouty lips.
I take a second step back.
This is all irrelevant information that does not serve my goal. Knowing the tangy sweetness between her legs is irrelevant.
A rustling comes from behind me. Whipping around, I ready myself to fight off whatever presence has invaded. My fangs and claws emerge, ready to bite and slash at any threat.
How did I get so distracted that I didn’t notice someone entering? Did they enter through the window?
“Please don’t kill my rabbits,” Red says dryly. After one last brush of her cheeks with her hand, she visibly pulls herself together then says in a baby voice, “Are my sweet fluff butts awake?”
