“Fated mates expend a shit ton of energy fucking so I’m going to need you to stay fueled. Eat more and drink a gallon of water every day,” he said.
When I told him I was a horrible cook, he demanded I sit down in the chair at the kitchen peninsula while he got to work cooking. Since I didn’t have a lot of ingredients, he declared we’d be having breakfast for dinner and is currently whipping together French toast with bread, eggs, milk, and cinnamon.
I won’t tell him the milk expired three days ago. It should be fine.
“Can I ask you about your hair?” Locheran says after a moment of silence.
“What about it?”
“You were a redhead when we met. Now you’re blonde. Don’t get me wrong; both colors look amazing on you. I just wondered why the change.”
I scrunch up my nose before answering. “After moving here, I wanted to distance myself from my family as much as possible, and one way to do that was hiding the infamous O’Hern red hair. The upkeep is going to suck, but I don’t mind.”
I shrug and take a sip of coffee.
“That makes sense,” he says.
“Can I askyoua question?”
“Anything.”
“Where do your wings go when you sleep?”
His back is to me as he stands at the stove, flipping the pieces of French toast. He shakes his wings before tucking them flush against his body again. The movement is fascinating, as if they shrink or fold. They’re barely visible when he’s facing me, only the tips peek out.
“Sometimes I keep them just like this, other times I spread them out.” He shrugs. “Just depends.”
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“Not at all.” Over his shoulder, he gives me that charming, fanged smile that I always thought was annoyingly cocky. Yet it failed to turn me off to its alluring magic.
“And you can control them? Use them like another limb?”
I know he can since his wings held my arms down during sex. I blush thinking about it, and his knowing smirk tells me he heard my thoughts.
“I just mean how does it work?”
He starts transferring the food to plates.
“I can control them, but it’s no different than extending my arm or leg. I’ve had my wings since I was five years old. I’ve had 995-years to learn how to live with them. Sometimes, I don’t even realize I’m using them… like during sex.”
He winks, which makes me all giddy inside and hands me my food. I’ve already set out the toppings and choose some butter to slather on top, then drown the toast in syrup. Locheran sits next to me and adds everything I do plus peanut butter. His stack of French toast is five slices higher than mine.
He takes a bite and sighs. I shove a forkful in my mouth and groan.
I’ve made French toast before, but it never tasted like this.
“Oh, yeah, that’s another thing,” he says. “All your senses are overstimulated right now because of the mating bond. So, it’s kinda like your taste buds are on steroids.”
No wonder that sandwich I had at lunch was the best fucking sandwich I’ve ever made.
I swallow my food and chase it down with several gulps of ice water.
My eyes wander to Potato walking into the living room after finishing his meal—that Locheran plated for him while I used the restroom. As much as the gargoyle tries to deny it, he’s becoming a cat lover. Potato climbs his cat tree that I have placed in the corner next to the window and curls up in the little basket.
“What else do you want to know?” Locheran asks.
When I turn my head back his way, my eyes stop on his wings again.
