Page 21 of Where Exorcists Cannot Lie

“It will take a while before it goes down completely, as you know,” Inuel said, a hint of apology in his voice. He tucked me under his chin, his arm a warm, comforting weight across my hipbone.

I smiled and closed my eyes. “That’s all right, I don’t mind,” I slurred. Sated and wrecked, I felt ready to succumb to sleep. “It’s not like we’ve got somewhere to be right now, is it?”

“Ineed a tall man,” I announced from the kitchen, not even trying to reach for the sieve, which someone had left in the furthest nook of the top shelf for reasons beyond my comprehension.

“Good luck getting a man around here.” Inuel materialised by my side.

I cocked my head and appraised him with a squint. “You will do, too.”

“Will I, now?” He extended his corded arm above my head, seemingly to get the implement I desired. But instead of handing it to me, he trapped me with my back plastered against the counter.

I shivered when Inuel pressed himself towards me and lowered his head to nuzzle the side of my face.

“I might have to devour you, Exorcist,” he said, rolling his Rs and lengthening the vowels in a very accurate–—and very erotic—imitation of the Old Language.

I felt somewhat weak at the knees. When Inuel committed to being charming and flirtatious, he was a force to be reckoned with. Leaning backwards under the weight of his body, I knocked something down with my elbow.

Thank the gods the drawstrings of the pouch containing vanilla pods and other spices stayed intact on landing. Inuel picked up the satchel from the floor. He brought it to his nostrils, took a sniff, and then contemplated the array of ingredients I had laid out on the kitchen top.

“What are you making, anyway?” he asked.

“Cake.”

“Cake?” Inuel straightened his posture, interest darkening his gaze. He smacked his lips. “What kind are we talking?”

I strangled my laughter at the way he uttered that line, sounding so much like the illegal charm dealer that he was. It was so transparent to watch—the two great appetites of an Alpha warring within him. I waited to see if his rapacity for food would supersede his amorous inclinations.

“Black sour cherry and almond tart. The cherries are overripe, they need eating. Otherwise, they’ll spoil and go to waste.” I shot Inuel a look of reproach. Unless smothered in a sweet batter of some kind or made into preserves, the fruit didn’t tickle his fancy.

Inuel visibly swallowed. “Not to worry. I’ll have no problem eating them in a shortcrust pastry.”

I rolled my eyes. “I suspected as much.”

An urgent, agitated cackling emanated from outside, so unlike the usual contented chatter of our flock. I furrowed my brow in a silent question.

“That will be Tazzik introducing himself to the chickens,” Inuel confirmed my fears while sporting a fond expression. “He’s like a ball of energy, pouncing about the place like a little hunter. Fearless.”

“Fearless my arse.” I scoffed. “Don’t know what you’re so happy about. He’ll scare the hell out of the hens and they’ll stop laying. And then there’ll be no omelettes for breakfast.”

“Hm, yes. Your arse was indeed fearless last night, Taz. You took my knot so beautifully—”

“Inuel, stop spouting nonsense,” I hissed. My face heated as I gave him my best glare. Who talked about that sort of thing in the light of day, in the middle of cake preparation? “I’m trying to bake here. So if you’re not going to help,” — I fake-formed a banishing seal with my fingers and sent it in his direction — “shoo.”

Inuel grinned. “I’ll help.”

I regarded him with a dose of scepticism. “You just want to scrape the bowl and lick the spatula at the end.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m all up for some licking. But I’m saving that for after the cake.” He squeezed my arse and finally reached above my head to get me the sieve.

Once Inuel had the fire going in the stove, I instructed him how to prepare the tart filling. Seeing that he seemed to get the hang of it—grinding the almonds, flour, vanilla and cane sugar lumps to a fine powder in a mortar and pestle like a demon incarnate—I left him to it and started on the tricky part: the pastry.

Before long, the mouthwatering, sweet aroma of baked dough filled the room.

I wiped my hands on the linen cloth. “Huh. Look at that. Aren’t we a good team? Next time, perhaps we could make…”

My chest constricted.

“What?” Inuel asked, not lifting his head from his pile of washing up.

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