What I saw explained everything and nothing.
The half-naked man was indeed cooking bacon in a skillet that wasn’t mine, and frying eggs too. The coffee machine on the countertop hadn’t been there yesterday.
Come to think of it, I didn’t think I had bacon in my fridge either.
He’d brought all of that with him.
My eyes comprehended the fact that Cas had broken into my place to cook breakfast, but that didn’t tell me why he’d do that.
“Morning, partner.” He turned, handing me one of my cups.
I shrugged. I didn’t need an explanation as much as I needed caffeine.
I took a sip and gasped. “What the fuck isthis?”
It was coffee, elevated to the ninth degree. Even Lucian’s fancy beans paled. He’d served it with too much milk and sugar, just like I preferred it, too.
“Mostly coffee, some of my blood.”
I gasped. “Your blood,” I repeated slowly.
“Ichor,” Cas replied as though it was the most natural thing to offer to a person. “Just a few drops. Deadly to mortals, of course. But it’s basically the same stuff as ambrosia or nectar. I don’t have a way to get actual godly food here so I guessed my blood would be the next-best thing.”
“And why are you giving me your blood, exactly?” I questioned.
I still brought the cup to my lips. He was delicious.
“I thought about what you said: you don’t have magic. That’s strange to me. I figured, you’re likely deeply deficient in ichor, as you’ve not been eating as you would have if you’d been born in an immortal world. A little ichor will make you stronger. Perhaps slowly awaken your powers, if you let it.”
That was rather thoughtful of him, if deeply weird.
“Right.” I sipped my blood coffee. “And the food?”
“You don’t like or trust me. I’m bribing you to change that,” he stated baldly.
I couldn’t help laughing. “I still think you’re full of shit.”
“Let’s put it a different way. Do you know everything about everyone around you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Other people around me aren’t lying about not knowing their own bloody names. And you’re a weapon. Not knowing your game’s dangerous.”
“I’m making pancakes,” he countered.
I weighed that. While my point was valid and important, it didn’t have to be argued when I could eat pancakes instead.
Cas made the perfect pancakes, light, fluffy, super thick. I devoured half a dozen, with a side of berries, bacon, and plenty of syrup.
“I definitely didn’t have moonberries,” I asserted.
I didn’t even know what those were until Lucian served some alongside Kleos’s baking one afternoon.
“You didn’t have anything. Your fridge is in a sad state. But I asked around about you, and I came prepared.”
I was curious enough to ask, “What do they say about me?”
“You order takeout every day, two or three times, and spend most of your free time with Kleos, at the gym, or hiking in the woods. You enjoy sculpting and decorating.” He looked around. “I should pay you to do my place.”
I snorted. “No thanks. If I’d known I was rich, I would have paid someone else to do mine.”
