Page 51 of Echoes of the Banshee

“And we were just getting food. I know you don’t usually do casual, but not every outing ends with a trap.”

She wasn’t expecting me to bite back. Anita’s mask slips for a moment before she recovers, turning to Zair. “So, are we going to this party or not? You still need to change.”

“Thea,” Zair says, ignoring her. “Do you want to go to a party?”

“I thought this was the party,” I reply, pretending to look confused. “You mean there’s even more fun to be had?”

His smile broadens as he leans forward in his seat. “No, this has definitely been more fun than any party I’ve been to lately.”

Anita’s smile falters, and there’s a flicker of frustration in her eyes, the kind that slips through when someone’s losing a game they thought they’d already won. Zair hasn’t spared her a single glance that wasn’t laced with disgust. But he watches me like I’m the only one in the room. He’s playing this game as much as I am.

“Well, in that case,” I say, grinning. “Dessert?”

Zair nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “That sounds perfect.” He hands me the dessert menu. “Get something with two spoons, or one.”

He’s playing with fire. I like it. Let her blister.

I scan the menu as Anita huffs, muttering something under her breath before storming off. I turn to watch her retreat, her heels clicking against the floor. As soon as she’s out of the booth, Zair rolls up his sleeves and checks his forearms with quick, practiced precision. Looking for a mark.

“She’s shit at skin curses,” I tell him. “Her dad makes her objects.”

He pauses, looking surprised, then nods. “Thanks.”

A waitress passes carrying a waffle topped with cinnamon, my eyes must light up because Zair chimes in, “I love waffles.”

Of course he does. I focus on the menu again, pretending I didn’t feel the echo of someone else in his voice. We place an order for a strawberry-banana waffle with two forks. When it arrives, it looks almost too pretty to eat, almost. I slice into the whipped cream-topped masterpiece and Zair follows suit.

“So,” he says between bites. “Adopted. That didn’t come up earlier.”

I pause for a moment, then shrug. “Yeah, my parents died. Anita’s mom’s a coven high priestess, so she took me in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I can feel the question hovering in the air: what happened to them? But he doesn’t ask. And I appreciate it. I’m not ready for that conversation. Or the nightmares that follow.

“You guys don’t seem to have the best relationship,” he observes as he pushes the last bite of the waffle toward me. “Is her mom… like her?”

“She’s worse.” I take a breath, letting my gaze drop to the table for a moment. “It’s complicated. I used to think they were family, but… “ I shrug lightly. “Now I know we weren’t.” I meet his eyes.

His drink pauses halfway to his mouth, and he sets it down slowly. “That’s rough.”

Why am I telling him this? Something about his presence, steady and unassuming, makes it feel safe.

“It’s not so bad,” I say. “I’ve learned a lot, about what love actually looks like.”

Zair surveys me a little too curiously. “What do you mean?”

I pause, the words tugging at something quiet and constant in my chest.

“There was someone once. He loved me like it was simple. Like I didn’t have to earn it.”

Then again, Lazlo didn’t have a choice. I was his mate. He had to love me.

“A lover?” he asks. Too quick. Too still.

My lips twitch. Almost a smile. “I know, right? Hilarious.”

Zair freezes. I can feel it in the air between us shift.

“What? Why?”