I was not braced for him to be attractive.
This is a problem. This is a significant problem. Because I have a documented history of losing my cool aroundhot guys. It’s the only time I do. Put me in front of an angry mob or a dangerous situation or literally anything else and I’m fine. Put me in front of someone with good bone structure and I become a complete disaster.
Dis’s eyes open. Those burning sapphire-blue eyes that have been glaring at me from the darkness for the past how ever many hours. Now blazing at me from the most attractive face I’ve ever had the misfortune to be subjected to.
The glowing, supernatural eyes really complement the whole aesthetic he has going on, and it’s deeply unfair. No one, absolutely no one, should be allowed to be this good-looking. Let alone your mortal enemy.
He looks at me. Really looks at me. Taking in my ripped jeans and my oversized jumper and my hair that I haven’t brushed since this morning, and my absent eyeliner. My ugly but comfortable boots.
“Little witch,” he says.
His voice is different now that he has a proper form. Deeper. A low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate through the floorboards and straight into my chest. It’s the kind of voice that demands attention. Commands it.
I hate how much I like it.
“Disney,” I weakly manage to retort.
His right eye twitches. He is trying to rise above the insult. For some reason it makes him even hotter.
“You’re sitting down,” I say, because apparently that’s what my brain has decided is the most important observation to make right now.
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I was tired of standing.”
“You’ve been floating eyes and shadows for a full day. You weren’t standing.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. It might be amusement. “Then perhaps I was tired of floating.”
We stare at each other across my living room. The summoning circle glows faintly between us. The air smells like smoke and magic and something else I can’t quite identify. Something that might be sandalwood or might be ancient libraries or might just be the particular scent of a shadow being. It’s disgustingly good, whatever it is.
“You’ve materialised,” my brain decides to say, but at least it is a slightly more sensible comment.
“I have.”
“Decided to stop sulking?”
“I was not.” He shifts slightly, the shadows around him rippling. “I was not sulking.”
I smirk. “You were sulking.”
“No.”
“Yes you were. Dis, the mighty once king of the Shadow Realm, was sulking.”
“I was not sulking, Little Witch. I was angry. I have been pulled from my realm, bound against my will, and trapped in a circle in what I can only assume is the human equivalent of a particularly depressing hovel. Angry was appropriate.”
I should be offended. I am offended. This is my flat and it is not a hovel. It’s small and temporary and mostly empty because everything I owned burned down, but it’s mine. And if it is a hovel, well then whose fault is that?
“It’s not a hovel,” I say.
Dis looks around the room with the kind of polite skepticism that feels worse than outright insult. “If you say so.”
My hands clench tighter. I force myself to breathe. To stay calm. To not react to the fact that he’s sitting there looking like a dark prince from a horny dream while casually insulting my living space.
“Why did you choose to materialise now?” I ask.
