Shoving my hands back into the front of my jean pockets, I heard the flap of wings before I saw Corbin’s crow form land on the warped and weathered wooden bench right outside the pub’s main window.
Shoving away from the parking meter I had been leaning on, I turned to face him as he hopped along the armrest. His chest looked particularly puffed out, more so than usual. It was a subtle visual that, after almost a century, I had plenty of time to learn to spot.
Looking around for any passersby that could potentially overhear our conversation, I found none. Grumbling, I stared at him with a cross look that said my mood from yesterday hadn’t improved.
“Thought early birds got the worm. Not like you to oversleep.”
With his little crow feet not making so much as a scratching sound, he hopped down onto the seat of the bench. At that point—I shit you not—Corbin strutted along the seat’s edge with his tail feathers whipping side to side with an exaggerated swagger. It looked as fucking ridiculous as it sounded.
Distracting me, a sudden and shrill scream came fromthe courtyard where festival activities were taking place across the street. My head whipped around to pinpoint where the alarming noise had come from, only to immediately hear the cackling of giggles that followed it. Some overly excitable woman shouted, “I won! I won! My prized piglet won the Piggy Prance!”
I shook my head in annoyance; simpletons, all of them.
I turned to look back at the bench only to find Corbin sitting there in his human form, wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a slate grey Henley. He casually leaned back, one arm draped along the backrest and the other holding onto his ankle that was planted on top of his knee.
“Are you trying to draw attention to yourself doing that in public?” I asked, noting how he had shifted out in the open where anybody could see.
The same damn cocky aura about him reflected in his eyes and the way his mouth tilted up on one side. A toothpick bobbed between his teeth while he spoke. “Nobody is paying attention to us. They’re too busy with facepainting and apple bobbing.”
Nonchalantly, he plucked the wooden stake out of his mouth, gave it a once-over, and muttered to himself, “Hm. Tastes like last week’s baby back ribs special.”
One unfazed shrug, and he put it back in his mouth.
“Tell me you didn’t…” I gave a pointed look at the ground, then back up at him.
He gestured at the space between the bench and the outdoor ashtray. “Found it over there.”
Disgusted, I snarled in response. “You’re fucking foul.” Godsdamned bird-brained asshole was always looking for scraps.
He chuckled, still nibbling on the sliver of wood. “Technically,fowlrefers to chickens and the like. I’m corvid, more scavenger than the domesticated feathered friends you find in the Gales’ backyard.”
Stalking over to him, I cuffed him upside the head hard enough to knock the toothpick out from between his lips. It dropped to the sidewalk, where I immediately covered it with my boot to eliminate the temptation for him to piss me off further by retrieving it.
The satisfying grunt of resignation he made was worth it.
Then, he diverted to an equally infuriating topic.
“Still cranky that Harlow didn’t scream her lungs out last night in response to your fear tactics?”
A sparkle of mischief in his eyes told me that somehow this was bait.
I walked into it unknowingly. “Haven’t given it any thought.”
At that point, he smirked and lounged back further against the bench, both arms spread along the back of it. “Shame, ‘cause I had her screaming out my name last night. Let me tell you, absolutely fucking divine noises that come out of her mouth.”
Mother. Fucker.
“You slept with her?” Unasked question: Had Harlow lost her damn mind?
When all Corbin did was sit there and beam proudly, I growled as something primal flared up in my gut. “Of course you did.”
Smug bastard just watched my reaction like he knew how I’d handle the news. The pressure on my back molars from clenching my jaw tightly was making a muscle tick in my cheek. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose my shit.
If my hands were balled up into tight fists inside my jacket pockets? Nobody had to know.
Corbin uncrossed his legs and pushed off his thighs as he stood. Coming beside me, his hand slapped between my shoulder blades with a resoundingthunk. The contact was hard enough that I swayed forward slightly despite all the tension drawing my muscles tauter than a piano string.
“There, there, Bale. Don’t fret. We had a chat about you, too.”
