Page 53 of Hunger & Harmony

“Hm?”

She crosses her arms and angles her chin.

“Come with me.” After a pause, she then looks at Ryel. “You, too.”

“Is there something I need to⁠—”

“No,” Selene says, cutting me off as she locks onto Niko.

Bewildered, I glance between them as a silent conversation takes place. Ryel crosses the dark floor first, a sour expression twisting his face. He stares like he’s waiting for me to fuck up, but not wishing for it, like usual. After peeling himself from the back wall, Ezren shuffles over, too. I offer him a smile, but only get a half-hearted attempt back.

With a flick of his hand, Niko dismisses all three of his bandmates. My head feels like it’s spinning with how fast Selene ushers them away. The door closes with a resolute thud, leaving Niko and me alone. While it’s not a small room, the lounge seems far more intimate with just us.

“Everything okay?” I ask, mostly to the empty spot Selene just occupied.

My attention turns when Niko’s hand comes up to rub at his neck, his bashful tone so uncharacteristic that it pulls a confused smile out of me.

“Well . . .”

I blink at him. Why is he being so adorable?

“What?”

“Selene has a good heart,” he says slowly. “If not an awkward one.”

My confusion doubles, and I tilt my head.

“Huh?”

“She wants me to comfort you.” He gestures to me, trying so hard to be nonchalant. “She could tell you came back . . .distressed.”

“Oh, I’m fine, I just . . .”

I bite my lip to suppress a bigger grin. If he keeps staring at me with those attentive, concerned eyes, I might have to kiss him.

“Well, since she put you on duty, I won’t say no,” I settle on, and he laughs sheepishly at my cheesy wink.

“So, uh . . .”

He gestures for me to follow him across the room. I have the urge to scoot closer when we’re sitting on wine-red velvet. Knees brushing, and in the stillness of privacy, the Hunters, his title, and even my mortality seem irrelevant.

“What’s your plan to comfort me, then?” I ask, unable to help my teasing.

It’s endearing how flustered he is. Subtle to anyone else, but I’ve learned his mannerisms.

“Do you want a snack?” he asks.

I gawk at him.

“A snack? Of what, blood?”

How could I politely suggest he’d be a good alternative?

“No, no,” he assures me, leaning over the arm of the couch to get his personal bag. “I think I have something in here . . .”

After rummaging around, he then pulls out an entire chocolate bar. I have to keep from giggling uncontrollably as he lifts it to my face. It’s not that I’m laughing at him. He just really meant it when he mentioned wanting to eat for pleasure, not survival.

“I haven’t even opened it,” he says, offering the pristinely wrapped chocolate.