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“Fuck you, wanker. You can’t even string a proper sentence together. I do not sound like that.”
“You sure about that, buddy?”
Sunday lost the battle at that point, laughing so hard she snorted and tears streamed from her eyes. “Okay, I feel better now. At least I know my impersonations are better than yours.”
“Oi! That was a perfect Thorne.”
“No, mate. No, it wasn’t.” Thorne clapped me on the shoulder. “It was a good Dick Van Dyke.”
“Does that make me Mary Poppins?” Sunday asked, looking at us over her shoulder as she resumed her stroll toward the bathroom.
“Yep. Practically perfect in every way, baby.”
Her sweet grin had my heart lightening. I didn’t look away until she closed the door, my pulse thumping erratically with each step she took. Logically, I knew she was safe. That it was only a shower, but people were dropping left and right around us lately. I’d feel better if I was in there with her. I took a step, but Thorne stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“She’ll be fine. Why don’t you make her something to eat, take care of her in a way that won’t make her feel smothered?”
Taking a long breath, I fought the tightness between my ribs. It was always there lately—the pressure, the fear—but every passing moment seemed to build faster and faster. Time was running out, and I couldn’t ignore it.
A distraction sounded good.
“Yeah, okay,” I agreed, swiping my boxer briefs off the floor so Jake and I weren’t flopping around in the wind as I did my thing in the kitchen.
Thorne followed my lead, grabbing his pants and pulling them on. He didn’t hover; instead he took a seat on the sofa and picked up the book Caleb had left on the table. I was pretty sure he was pretending to read and giving me time to get my head straight before Sunday came back.
I opened the cupboards one after another, finding nothing but scraps. One piece of bread, a can of peaches, one of fucking green beans. How the hell was Sunday supposed to survive onthis?
“What the fuck, Caleb?”
Thorne turned his head, casting me a curious glance. “What’s he done now?”
“There’s no goddamned food in this house. The ass is going to let her starve.”
Frowning, Thorne peered into the empty cabinet behind me. “I find that hard to believe. He must have a plan in place. A way for supplies to reach them here.”
“Can you two keep it down?” Alek groaned from his place on the fur. “I’m trying to recover here.”
“Cry me a river, god-boy. I’d love to see how you react when there’s no food for your eight-course breakfast.”
Alek lifted his head. “What?”
“Now he fucking cares.”
“Can’t he just magic us some food?”
Stumbling to his feet, Alek swayed, then pulled himself together. Lilith had really done a number on him. The Viking still wasn’t at full strength, but he looked a little better. “Magic food can’t sustain us, not for long. It’s not truly nutritious.”
I slammed the cabinet closed. “Fuck.”
“Calm down, wolf. I’ll go find the priest. Figure out what the plan is. You just... make tea or something. I’ll be right back.” Taking one of the coats by the door, Thorne walked out into the night.
“You doing okay?”
I looked over at Alek, not appreciating the empathy in his icy gaze. “I’ll be fine. You should go back to sleep. You look like crap.”
Instead of fighting me, Alek climbed on the couch and closed his eyes. “I’ll just rest a little while longer. Wake me when the food’s ready.”
“What food, asshole?” I muttered, shaking my head. But the Viking was already knocked out.
