“How did your father die?” he asked.
“Old age. I think he knew his time was coming.”
“He lived a long life. Some die of old age at three hundred.”
“Everyone’s different,” I agreed, knowing that we averagedseveral hundred years but sometimes it just depended on genetics. I bent over and scooped up a handful of gravel. “In the end, he started getting his affairs in order. The books went into storage, and he sold a lot of his personal effects. We lived in a charming home in Austin, but it was a rental. I didn’t know that until right before he died.” I threw a few pebbles and listened to them skitter across the road.
“Why didn’t he own a home?”
“My father didn’t understand how to navigate around human traps and avoid government and taxes. He was afraid to buy land or a house from them.”
“Why didn’t he shop on the Breed side? The Council usually handles stuff like that.”
I lengthened my stride to match his pace. “Because hewantedto live in the human district. He rented from a Mage who collected his money and took care of everything else.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble.”
I threw another pebble. “He was an intellectual, but he was just…”
“Ignorant.” Archer glanced down at me. “I don’t mean that negatively. Most of us will eventually get like that as we age. Technology changes, the world changes, and we live in the past. Not everyone acclimates.”
After dropping the gravel, I dusted off my hands. “He spent most of his money on books in the later years. They were his treasures. He taught me a lot, and he assumed I’d go into his profession. But I’ve never wanted to work for the higher authority or Councils. Plus, I prefer fiction.”
“You mean swashbuckling romances with hunky pecs on the cover?”
I sputtered out a laugh. “What?”
Archer walked backward in front of me, the outdoor security light revealing a devilish grin. “That steamy book you werereading while we were moving boxes. The cover model’s shirt was ripped off. What was the title again? ‘Torrid’ something.”
I was blushing, and thankfully he couldn’t tell in the shadows.
He rejoined my side. “Maybe you should sellthoseinstead.”
“They’re too ubiquitous. You can walk into any airport or grocery store and find the same books because they’re mass-produced. I don’t have the same avid interest in nonfiction as my father, but wouldn’t it be something to sell Breed-written romances and thrillers? I’m sure there are a lot of people out there who would love to publish a book but don’t want to deal with the human world.”
Archer chuckled. “Sounds like it could be a lucrative business. Maybe I should learn to write.”
“And what kind of book would you write?”
“Once upon a time, there lived a man whose shirts kept falling off him.”
I smiled. “That’s deep.”
After a beat, he said, “Maybe I’d write a book about a guy who lost his way.”
I found Archer easy to talk to, and perhaps part of that comfort stemmed from us having once been intimate. The deep conversations with him satisfied a part of me that had been neglected for years. Noah never engaged with me this way, let alone asked about my father.
Archer turned around when headlights blinked into view up ahead, but the car slowed and stayed on the opposite side to avoid us.
“How did you manage the bills after he died?” he asked.
“Between the rent, food, and burial expenses, the money didn’t last long. He was still doing contract work until that last year. When he died, so did the income. Then the man renting the place informed me he was going to sell, and I didn’t have enough money. He told me he never intended to rent out the house forthat long, but he was beholden to my father. When my father died…”
“He felt like the favor wasn’t owed anymore,” Archer finished.
We moseyed down the road, Archer to my left, creating a barrier between me and any passing cars. When a truck gunned toward us, Archer hooked his arm around me. With lightning speed, he led me off the road, protectively shielding me while staring daggers at the vehicle as it passed. My heart thumped wildly in his warm and familiar embrace.
“Asshole,” he mumbled, leading me back to the road. “When did you meet Noah?”
