“You seemed like you wanted them.” Linton’s eyes rake over me from my feet to my head. “And I’d like to see you in…clothes.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, not quite understanding the flood of heat which blasts through me, pooling in my core.
Do I have a thing for dangerous monsters? It’s not like I’ve had time to even think about a relationship. And after what happened with the Faerie Lord who enslaved me…it’s not something I’ve even contemplated. Plus most warlocks aren’t interested in humans in any event.
It’s been a relief not to be leered over every time I set foot outside the bakery. To be anonymous, ignored even. Humans are considered the lowest of the low in the Yeavering pecking order and it certainly benefitted me when the last thing I wanted having escaped from Lord Guyzance, the Faerie Lord, was notoriety.
Linton’s nostrils flare, but he puts the dagger away and opens his wings briefly before stalking over to where the food has been left.
“This is for you. Food and drink.” He lifts the metal dome off one of the plates and peers at the contents.
“What about you?” I ask as he twists his mouth strangely before putting out a clawed finger to poke the food. “Are you not having anything?”
“I don’t,” he says, cocking his head on one side as he lifts the pitcher which presumably contains water. “I feed. I do not eat.” He looks over at me. “You should eat. I will watch.”
So far, so weird. But in lifting the dome, he’s released a scent into the room which has my stomach growling.
Linton’s wings flare.
“Why do you make that noise?”
“I’m hungry.” I put my hand over my stomach. “It happens. I thought you knew about humans.”
“I do.” Linton flings himself into one of the chairs. “So I know you need to eat and make odd noises when you do not.”
His antennae are raised again, as if he’s listening for moreodd noiseswhich makes me rather self-conscious. So I sit, uncover the dish again, and breathe in the aroma from a hearty stew which is paired with some chunks of homemade bread.
I pick up a spoon and dive in. The stew is delicious, aromatic and flavoursome, and I’m unable to help the groan of delight as the taste bursts over my tongue.
Linton leans forward.
“Is it poisoned?” he asks.
“No!” I grab the bowl in case he has any thoughts of removing it. “It is far from poisoned. Is that what you do? Put poison in food to kill people?”
Linton leans back, moth-manspreading in a way I didn’t even think was possible.
“Why would I do that, when I have my knives?” he says, as if I’ve suggested he cut off his wings.
“I don’t know.” I spoon some more stew into my mouth and savour it. “Perhaps because you’re an assassin.”
Linton flips one of his knives in the air and catches it, before stowing it away under a wing.
“There may not be honour in what I do, but I have standards,” he says imperiously.
I do my level best not to choke into my food. I don’t think he has any idea how funny he is. And I’m getting the impression Linton is even on the same planet as the rest of us.
So I continue to eat my stew and sneak a glance at him occasionally, only to find he’s watching me intently, every movement of my spoon, ever swallow, every piece of bread I pull apart.
It’s as creepy as hell, but because he is unintentionally funny, because other than telling me I am his, he has done nothing save for watching, in an equally weird way, I quite like it.
LINTON
My Kaitlyn eats the food the innkeeper brought. She occasionally makes noises which rouse my spicket, making it painful in my trousers.
I don’t like trousers, but this is not the place to remove them. Instead I concentrate on working out the flight to weight ratio of my latest dagger, all the while watching as Kaitlyn consumes the food.
I’m not sure I’ve ever watched any creature eat before, not in the way I watch her. The way she gently blows on the meat liquid and then tips it down her throat using the metal not-dagger. The way her eyes close as she swallows. The way she flicks the not-dagger from side to side as she bites into the other food which makes a slight crackling sound as she chews. Finally the bowl is empty, and she puts it down, pouring out a glass of wine from the pitcher. She takes a sip of the red liquid.
