She snarls at him.
He merely arches a brow right back.
“Mad fucking Hatter,” she growls, then stomps off.
“I really hate that nickname,” he mutters, picking up his teacup again.
“And yet, it’s so very accurate,” Krolic drawls.
“Fuck you, K.” Craze finishes his tea and signals for another.
A wisp of enchanted air swirls around the table as his cup is magically refilled.
I don’t fully understand the process or how it works; Krolic ordered for me earlier. But I’m a bit intrigued by it. Particularly as the sensation of magic feels pleasing. Like it makes me happy. Which is strange, as I’ve never actually felt magic before.
However, I’m learning not to be surprised by what happens in Monsterland.
Nothing is what it seems here.
Including these men, I think, sizing the three of them up.
They want me to trust them, and thus far, they’ve given me a few reasons to. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to put all my faith in these threeAlphas.
Gods, just thinking of the term stirs a tremble from deep within.
Between everything Craze has said and the few things Krolic mentioned when we first arrived in the village, I’ve gathered that they’re an Alpha-circle. I don’t quite understand what that means, but it seems they fully intend to share me as their Omega mate.
The notion of it makes me shiver. Or maybe that’s the lingering magic.
I… I don’t know.
So I just… eat my spaghetti-muffin.
Krolic whispers something with a wave of his hand, causing a tray of round doughlike items to appear. They all have holes right through the center.
I frown at them, but Craze perks up. “Pizza donuts. Oh, brilliant choice.”
“I thought A might like them,” he says.
Ais my nickname here.
Just likeKseems to stand for Krolic.
They haven’t explained the reason behind these code names, but I suspect it has to do with the Silver King. OrCrimson King,as Craze and Master Pillar have called him.
“Try one,” Craze says, drawing my attention back to the platter.
I pinch my lips, considering saying no. But I’m still hungry, and the spaghetti muffin isn’t satisfying my rumbling stomach.
Craze nudges the plate toward me with an indulgent look. “Come on, gorgeous. Trust me. You’ll love it.”
“How do you know?” I ask him. “The only foods I’ve mentioned that I like are cherries and pears.”
“Hmm, true,” he concedes. “So tell me how you feel about pizza, then.”
“I…” I’ve tried it a few times, typically cold slices left over from Baroness Clarice’s daughters. “It’s okay.” I prefer spaghetti, as it’s easier to reheat and not nearly as chewy.
However, I pick up a donut to pacify him.
