Page 98 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Summer, wake up. You need to eat. You need protein,” I say, adding a touch of command to my tone.

Her icy-blue eyes take a moment to open, their usual brightness glazed with exhaustion. “Where am I?”

“My home.” She tenses at the words. “You were spent.”

She pulls back from my touch, looking around.

“Eat,” I order, drawing her eyes to the food on the bedside table. She shifts to a sitting position, putting more distance between us.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks, and I hate how dull she sounds.

I pick up the plate and hold it out to her. “I thought you’d prefer not to answer Alice or Rafe’s questions.” And because I wouldn’t miss the chance to have her in my bed, lying in my arms.

She takes the plate but looks away. “So you’re not planning on asking me any questions?”

“Would you answer them?”

Her fingers tighten on the plate. It’s a silent answer, but it is still an answer.

“I have to go,” she says, her gaze flicking around the room as if looking for a way out.

“Just eat.”

She glances at me before reluctantly picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. I remain silent, studying her as she eats. She takes a deep drink of the soup, and her natural glow returns to her skin, lessening her pallor.

“Better?” I ask.

She nods, and I nudge the plate, the majority of the food still sitting there uneaten. Slowly, she picks the sandwich up and takes another bite. We sit in silence together as she eats. When she clears the plate, I set it to the side, relieved to see she didn’t push herself past the point of no return. There are those who have lost all their potential. They ran their well dry and could never come back from it. It is better to be dead than magicless among the Arcane realms.

“What face are you wearing today?” she asks, finally breaking the silence.

The question makes me tense. Her tone is sharp, defiant, a pointed knife spinning through the air. She doesn’t like that I brought her here. That I’m here.

“I can go back to my avatar.” My formless, touch-deprived state. “If that is preferred.”

“I just don’t understand the point of it,” she says, her tone still sharp. “I know you’re not a shifter, so why use the face of one?”

It’s easier to create a glamour of a face you’ve seen before, and this is one I remember vividly. I always remember the faces of those I’d been tasked with killing. So my glamours almost always resemble my victims. It helps that my list of kills is longer than most, if not the longest.

“You were cold.” I study her features, trying to guess her mood. “From the rain.” She blinks in surprise at my response. “So I dropped the avatar for a glamour.”

“And he had to be hot, because?” she asks, arching a brow.

“Hot?” I ask. I needed to warm her up . . . Oh. My jaw clenches. She thinks this glamour is hot? I should change back to my avatar, then. I do not like it when she finds my glamour attractive, even when I am the one wearing it.

“I’ll change back.”

She glances away. “Leave it . . .” A moment later, she glances at my arms, her eyes glowing slightly.

I lift my arm and hold it out for her, wondering if she will reach out and touch me. Not every part of my body is altered by the glamour, and while I might have the markings of the shifter, my arms are mine. So she must genuinely like this part of me. My blood hums with pleasure at the idea.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, but her eyes don’t leave my arm.

“You can touch.” Touch me. Touch me. Touch me. It will be the first time she will do so willingly.

“You want me to?”

I nod. “I won’t deny that.”