I take a sip of tea and burn my tongue.Good.Pain gives me something to focus on.
“I couldn’t sleep.I went to The Gin Room.”
Akasha’s brows lift.“Alone?”
“Careful.You’re using the tone.”
“What tone?”
“The one that says the poor, fragile human made a questionable choice.”
“I was aiming for the tone that says a woman with enemies wanders into a supernatural bar with no backup, but sure, we can call it that.”
I glare at her, and she smiles into her cup.Witches are irritating.
“Knox was there,” I say.
Akasha goes very still.It’s small.Barely there.But I see it.Everyone in this building has tells, no matter how ancient, powerful, or smug they are.Akasha’s is in her hands.She gets careful with them, like her magic might slip through her fingers if she lets emotion get too close.
“What happened?”she asks.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes flick to my face.I hate that word too.Nothing.Fine.Healing.Recovering.Useless little lies people hand each other because the truth has teeth.
“He punched a wall,” I say.
Akasha blinks.“He what?”
“I annoyed him.”
“Briana.”
“I didn’t mean he punched it at me.He hit it instead of saying whatever awful thing was in his head.”I take another sip of tea, slower this time.“I bandaged his hand.”
There’s another pause.A different one.
“What?”I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t you start.”
“I just didn’t realize you and Knox were having late-night first-aid dates.”
“It was not a date.”
“Did he bleed?”
“Yes.”Why else would I bandage his hand?
“Did you touch his hand?”
“I had to.”These questions are only pointing out the obvious.
“Did he look tortured and intense about it?”
“That’s his face.”
