Silas prided himself on being able to fix anything — cars, wards, guns, microchips,anything.It was disorienting in the extreme to realize he had no idea how to fixthis,the most important and complex thing he’d ever held in his hands. Their relationship felt so delicate. One wrong move and he’d crush it.
What would Tal do?Silas tried to conjure the wraith’s voice in his mind, to imagine what he might say in this situation.
Trying hard to soften his tone, he told her, “I didn’t get a good look at everything before shit hit the fan, but it seemed to me like he’s been keeping those files for a century at least. My guess is he just didn’t go through the hassle of digitizing them like the rest of his more recent files.”
She still didn’t look up at him. “My file was printed.”
“And it looked like he had it tucked away in his briefcase for ease of access. Who knows? Maybe he was too old to figure out how to easily access shit on his phone. Or maybe he just liked to look at your picture.” Silas scowled at her plate. She hadn’t eaten a bite, which was unlike her. “I stole a metric shit-ton of data from his computers, as well as several encrypted hard drives. I think you’ll have better luck finding whatever he’s been up to once I’ve decrypted them. It’s gonna take a while, though.”
“Right. Okay.”
They lapsed into silence again. He normally liked quiet, but this was a kind of silence he’d never heard before. It was the loudest fucking thing on the planet.
Where was his little goddess? Where was the woman who’d thrown a punch at his head the second she was able to?
Longing for that car ride to his cabin struck him hard. He didn’t realize at the time how happy it made him to sit with her, needling her, as she secretly enjoyed the food he’d gotten her.The car was dark and close — the opposite of the airy kitchen and the stupid table that separated them.
Fuck this.
Silas dropped his fork onto his plate and pushed away from the table. Petra jumped. He could feel her gaze tracking him as he stalked out of the room.
When he returned a few minutes later, he found the table cleared and the casserole put away. She was scrubbing her plate in the sink with quick and jerky movements, her back to him. Her shoulders looked like they’d been hoisted up by her ears with rope.
He hovered in the doorway, afraid that if he stepped into the kitchen again, he’d abandon his plans and just throw her over his shoulder. The idea had appeal, except for the fact that he’d almost certainly vault up the stairs and end up throwing her into their bed.
Rest. Recovery.Thenrut.
“Petra.” She froze mid-scrub. “There’s snacks in the cabinets. Grab as much as you can and meet me in the living room.”
He didn’t stay to see what she’d do. If she didn’t join him, then he’d figure out something else, but he had a feeling she’d do it, if only because his witch was nosy by nature. No one who went digging for the truth with as much dogged intensity as she did lacked a keen sense of curiosity.
So he waited, listening to the sounds from the kitchen, and held his breath. There was a pause, then the gurgle of the sink draining. A splash of water from the spout was followed by the clink of dishware being set in the drying rack.
Then, slowly, feet padded over the floor. It filled him with immense satisfaction to know that under those perfect toes were slate tiles whose undersides were carved with his own sigilwork. Nearly every part of the house was saturated in his magic. Shelived in an invisible fortress, protected from everything short of a nuclear bomb.
His pleasure and anticipation increased when she began to open up cabinets. He silently thanked his parents for the grocery run they’d done for him. Still listening, Silas peeled himself away from his hiding spot just out of view of the kitchen doorway and silently crept toward the living room.
He snagged a bottle of his family’s whiskey from the antique cart by the door before he recalled she didn’t drink hard liquor. He traded it out for red wine. Dropping to his knees, he crawled one-handed into the blanket fort he’d thrown together.
Anticipation was a feeling he knew well, but he experienced a new shade of it as he waited for Petra to make her way to him. His leg bounced. His muscles were tense, jittery. The urge to rub a horn was constant. Silas plucked the cork from the wine with a claw and found himself taking a deep pull just so he had something to do.
The sound of fabric rustling, feet on hardwood, and the crinkle of wrappers was both sweet relief and a shot of adrenaline to his system.
She paused outside the makeshift tent. He could see her toes under the flap of the entrance. Otherwise she was just a silhouette, backlit by the single lamp he’d kept on. Warm light filtered through the blanket, just enough for her to see by when she entered, but still dim enough for him to recreate that soft closeness he craved.
It took a lot of willpower to restrain himself from snapping a hand around her ankle and dragging her inside.
His patience was rewarded when she knelt and nudged the flap aside.
Petra’s expression was wide-eyed when she whispered, “What is this?”
“Get in.” He leaned over to take some of the food from her arms, allowing her to crawl in.
She settled into the cushions he’d arrayed on the floor a bit like she was expecting a trap to spring. “Silas, what’s going on?”
“I hated sitting at the table,” he explained, setting the food around them. He wanted to pull her into his lap, but the skittish look in her eyes warned him against that, so he contented himself with being so very close to her in the semi-dark. Her rich scent of sunshine and incense immediately perfumed the air inside, mixing with his own musk. A tight knot between his shoulders began to unwind.
Much better.
