“That’s not his type. That’s his description.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s true. Once you get past all the fangs-and-claws business, you guys are basically like a boy band.” She cups her hands around her mouth and drops her voice like an announcer. “And here on lead guitar, we’ve got everyone’s mostlovablepsycho!”
“Jude,” I clarify, flipping the last of the pancakes onto the serving plate and turning off the griddle.
“Obviously. Draegan doesn’t get an instrument—he’s just the grumpy band manager.”
“Oh, he’ll love that.”
“Rook’s the sexy nerd, which makes him perfect for keyboards and sound engineering. And you’re—”
“I’mwhat, witchling?” I grin, waiting to receive the lead-singer nomination. It’s so obvious, it almost doesn’t need to be said.
“Youare… not as charming as you think you are. Tragedy, really. Things were going so well for the band, too.” She flicks the tip of my nose, grabs the serving plate, and heads over to the breakfast nook, the birds hopping along behind her.
What. The fuck?
I’m not sure what I’m more offended by. The fact that she doesn’t find me charming, or the fact that I let her flick my nose without consequences.
Clearly, my balls and I need to have a conversation about them running off and hiding at inopportune moments, because this isbullshit.
I dump the abandoned strawberries onto the cutting board and chop them up, along with a banana for good measure, and mix it all up in a bowl with a bit of fresh-squeezed lemon juice and sugar because I want to make sure she eats a good breakfast and yes, my balls trulyhaveabandoned me.
“So what’s on our agenda after night-breakfast?” she asks, reaching for her fork.
Setting the fruit on the table, I shoo away the birds and say, “First,I’mgoing to make us some lattes. Andyou, witchling, are going to shut your mouth, eat your chemically enhanced pancakes and pesticide laden fruit, and tell me everything you know about your almost-but-not-quite-in-laws.”
I steal her fork, spear a triangle of pancake and strawberry mix, and pop it into her mouth.
She rolls her eyes and glares at me, but she doesn’t spit it out.
In fact, I’m pretty sure she likes it, and I’m starting to get that god complex all over again.
Then, flashing a grin full of food, she says, “Am I telling you before or after I shut my mouth and stuff my face full of refined sugars and processed carbs?”
Fuck.I kind of hate that she’s so fucking adorable.
“Ladies’ choice, witchling. Ladies’ choice.”
Chapter Twenty
ROOK
The Blackmoor library is one of my favorite places on the estate—second only to my private quarters, my server room, and my game room. Even when I’m here hitting the books so hard I forget to eat, it still feels like an oasis.
I’m used to having the old barn to myself and wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s planned invasion of Auggie and our new houseguest. But the minute I catch sight of her traipsing across the grass wearing Jude’s oversized clothing and an infectious smile, the tightness in my chest loosens a bit.
I have no idea what’s got her smiling after last night’s epic battle of wills, but I’m not going to lookthatgift horse in the mouth.
Two ravens trail her, and as she and Auggie enter my domain, the birds hop onto her shoulders and tuck in close.
“Aww, who’s being shy now?” she teases, stroking a finger over one of their dark heads. “It’s okay, Huxley. We’re safe here.”
At her reassurances, the birds take flight, chasing each other up to the rafters.
“Familiars?” I ask Westlyn, then hold my breath, wondering if she’ll bite my head off again for talking to her.
