Then I pictured her broken expression when she threw my own phrases back at me.
Naïve. Child.
I shouldn’t have said those things. However, that didn’t make them any less true. She was naïve to think I could betray our Demonic Lord.
Except, he’d never actually sworn me to secrecy. It’d just been an unspoken promise between us. One I felt comfortable breaking today because we were finally indulging our craving.
I ran a hand over my face. Standing here thinking through all this shit wasn’t going to fix anything.
“All right,” I muttered, formulating a plan. I’d start by feeding Guinevere. She liked food. I liked her. So I’d make her coffee and breakfast, and then I’d enjoy her for dessert.
With a decisive nod, I stalked over to pull on my boxer briefs and then wandered downstairs to the kitchen.
I was in the middle of pulling the coffee beans from the cupboard as the front door opened, causing me to freeze, my senses flaring wide.
The lack of an approaching aura had me frowning until Gleason popped his red head into the kitchen. He didn’t greet me, just walked over, snatched the coffee from my hand, and began making a pot.
I leaned a hip on the counter and crossed my arms, amused by his clearly grumpy state. “Bad night?”
“Long night,” Gleason replied gruffly as he dumped coffee in the grinder. He slammed his finger to the button, and the motor whirred loudly.
I waited until he was done murdering the beans into a pulp before I asked, “Find out anything useful?”
“No.” Gleason dumped the grounds in the copper basket, then disconnected the water well to fill it in the sink.
When he didn’t elaborate, I prompted, “Did you figure out anything atall?”
Gleason dropped the well back into place and started the brew cycle, before he finally turned to me. Shadows lined his green eyes, suggesting a severe lack of sleep—even for a Nephilim—but the dark red stubble dotting his jaw looked good on him. He’d be a useful wingman if it weren’t for his perpetually grouchy attitude.
“We didn’t find anything,” he replied. “Everything still points to Gwen, regardless of the crime scene last night.”
I nodded, suspecting as much. “Where are the others?”
Gleason sighed wearily, like my line of questioning was the last thing he wanted to deal with this morning. Too bad for him, I found it to be a nice distraction from my problem upstairs.
He opened the cabinet over his head and extracted a coffee mug as he replied, “Evangeline has started her interviews with the Nephilim. She’s using it as a proper ‘meet and greet’ since she’s taking over their training, and her father is heading back up to Heaven for an extended stay.” Gleason checked the water line on the brew, then asked, “Where’s Zebulon?”
“Left a little while ago to begin his interviews as well.”
Gleason grunted. “At least things are progressing.”
“Not as fast as I wish they would,” I admitted, thinking about our timeline.
The floors creaked overhead, and a moment later, Guinevere’s feet padded softly down the stairs. As she appeared in the doorway, my heart clenched in my chest.
She’d wrapped her long dark hair in a bun at the crown of her head, with several little wet tendrils dancing around her pale face. She wore her robe—the same one she’d worn into the bathroom after our fight—and I wondered if she’d bothered putting on clothes beneath it. I hoped not. I loved imagining every inch of her satin skin just right beneath the silk. Touchable. Lickable.
Guinevere passed right by me without a single glance and went to Gleason’s side. She went up on her tip-toes to kiss his scruffy cheek. “Morning, roomie.”
As she opened the cabinet to find herself a mug, Gleason cocked a questioning brow my way.
I just shook my head, hoping he’d understand my unspoken,You don’t want to know.
“You look rough,” Guinevere told him as she pulled the carafe from the brewer and filled his cup first. “I know Nephilim are pretty much immortal, but a little sleep does the body good—regardless of origin.”
“No time,” Gleason grunted. He picked up his now-full mug and tossed back half of the scalding liquid in one go. “I need to grab a shower before I meet up with Creek.”
“The gym? Again?” Guinevere repeated, her amusement palpable and much more enjoyable than her angry aura from earlier.
