“What consequences? What are you even talking about?” I shift my weight, leaning slightly against the doorframe, daring him to argue.
“Your cravings for wine?” He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as if amused.
“You saw what happened. You saw my memories. If you’d be able to fall asleep after that without a little help, congratulations.” I shrug, running a hand through my hair. “I can’t. It’s the only thing keeping me functional.”
“But you don’t use it only to sleep, do you?” His gaze sharpens, studying me.
“You don’t fancy your blood spiked with something stronger? Sounds like a you problem.”
He dares to roll his eyes at me before I’ve even had breakfast, and we both end the scowling battle, which seems strange after waking up with him sleeping as a kitten in my bed.
I must have been too hammered to protest.
“That’s how you justify it,” he mutters, clearly in a mood.
I decided not to pay him any attention and sit opposite him. A moan slips from my lips as I skim over the table full of the baking goods. If someone makes me wait, there’s a risk of saliva dripping. Seriously!
“Oh, Gorok, have I died and met you?” I whisper dreamily.
On the other hand, he won’t welcome me that generously.
Every plane of existence has a god who governs it. Gorok, the Architect, tends his Gardens, called heavens in some translations. Chaos, ever the counterpart, adds life, instability, and twists to Gorok’s creations, ruling over Limbo.
Lesser gods in training, like Jahwa, each choose a planet with a promising species to guide and manage.
I suppose Gorok and Chaos wanted to be included in the grand experiment of civilisation building, because they granted the Fae and the Ghouls flesh and with it, access to this realm, allowing them to live in the physical plane.
I push the thought away and dive into the sweet spread in front of me; cinnamon, vanilla, buttery croissants that crumble in my fingers, sugar-dusted pastries that melt instantly in my mouth.
I am in Gorok’s gardens.
Mmm.
Santorili’s sugar cane doesn’t grow in any other part of our world. The Obeskiner River enriches it with minerals, giving it a unique quality, and as a result, creating the best sugar ever. Freakishly good.
“Now I must try it too,” Aidon says, dragging his chair across the room, placing it too close to mine. I roll my eyes, but restrict myself from commenting on his mood swings.
“You just did,” he smiles, his features indicating condescension.
“What?” I snap, not happy with the distraction. He is too close and I am hungry.
He chuckles and leans even closer, reaching for my face. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to caress my cheek, but instead, he swipes my nose. “You left something for lunch, I see.”
Have I lost all common sense?
I wipe my face with my sleeve and get back to the feast in front of me, determined not to get distracted by the other ‘feast’ in the room.
Not anymore, anyway.
“You should try the waffle cones first or the cupcakes.” I can’t help the excitement rising in my voice. “Oh no, try the brownies first, I am telling you.”
He takes a small bite, his throat working as he swallows, a slow ripple down the column of his throat that I can’t seem to look away from. Then his ridiculously perfect face lights up as the flavour hits him.
“Mhmm, thatisgood,” he says, voice rougher now, surprise melting into something else. Then he leans in, close enough that the air between us feels heavy. “You know what else is good?”
“Crumpets?” I suggest ignoring the tension.
He slowly shakes his head, biting his lower lip, amusement flickering in his eyes. His breath brushes my ear, and I have to fight the urge to lean closer.
