That comment alone made me his newest fan. I made a mental note to writeAlvar #1on one of my night shirts.
Maybe the prediction of us becoming besties wasn’t too far-fetched after all.
“Oddly enough,” I said, a comforting warmth swelling in my chest, “I think I’d enjoy that.”
A hearty, unexpected laugh slipped out of my throat before I realized it.
What a strange turn of events. If someone had told me this morning, “Hey, you’re gonna cozy on up to an Ossory werewolf after class, piss off the Luckland Kingpin by breaking through his magically sealed vault, and meet your future bestie from Vinterland all before midday.” I’d have asked what they were smoking and if they had extra.
“So the fates have spoken, huh?” I drawled. “You’re destined to be my bestie, my biffer, my bosom companion? The second pea in my pod?” I rolled my eyes extra dramatically. “I suppose that’s why my inkling is detecting you as friend and not foe.”
Something stirred inside me. But it wasn’t a warning. It wasrecognition.
In the market, my inkling had revealed him to me, but not as a threat. The tug felt lighter, quicker, almost like it was buzzing with giddy anticipation. Meeting an old friend for the first time.
Hmm . . . perhaps a soul connection?
“Inkling?” he repeated, shifting backwards to give me more space.
“That’s what I call my sixth sense,” I shrugged. “You know—gut feeling that never lies.”
“Hmm . . .” He gave a pensive nod.
Then a wicked smile splayed across his face. “I like the sound ofbosomcompanions.”
An undignified snort escaped me.
Hearing the enormous man saybosom companionsin that rough, heavy accent—boooo-sum—nearly sent me.
“Wait, so what exactly are you looking for in Luckland?”
Without answering, he adjusted his thick leather belt and reached deep into his pants. Like,reallydeep.
My stomach dropped.
Oh no. Maybe I’d read this whole situation wrong. Was he seriously about to do what I thought he was about to do?
“Ay, ay! None of that—” I flailed both hands in front of me, as if warding off an oncoming serpent. “Put it back! Whateveritis. I don’t need to see it!” I shifted my gaze away, refusing to look at thecandy canehe had hiding in his pocket.
This would be the second time in Luckland that a guy mistook me for some trampy brasser.
He cleared his throat,intentionally, then swore under his breath in a language I didn’t understand.
When I finally looked up, his eyebrow was arched. One super judgy brow. As ifIwere the weirdo.
Slowly, he extended a hand, revealing something small curled inside his fingers.
Definitelynota candy cane.
“Oh.” My voice came out small, slightly embarrassed. The kind of humiliation you’d only feel after falsely accusing someone of being a flasher. “Right. Sorry. I—uh. Continue.”
Okay, so maybe it was a little presumptuous to think he was about to take his dick out. But in my defense, would it really be so unreasonable to think that?Men, am I right?
While I was busy flustering, my eyes drifted to his unusual clothing. His leather top looked wildly outdated, as if he were headed to a renaissance faire to role-play some kind of warrior Viking. Not that I was complaining. Itreallyyyywasn’t a bad look, just out of place.
Then his fingers unfurled. Resting in his palm was a smooth, rose-colored stone.
No way. Could that be—was that?Holy fucking Souls above . . .It was!
