Page 145 of Creatures that Breathe

Another smirk as she peels a single dollar from her stack and plays it. In a matter of days, she’s learned every card game I’m versed in, and subsequently beaten me. I fear the chess board I’ve ordered will be my whipping ground.

“I have my eye on a rather large purchase,” she informs me seriously. “And I can’t risk losing it. It’s time sensitive.”

“What incentive do I have to deal if I can’t win any of my money back?”

“You said I have to bet the minimum. Technically, you could win all your cash back that way, slowly chipping away at it, hand after laborious hand. Of course, this is assuming you can actually win that many.” She arches an eyebrow in challenge.

I adore when she gets technical. “We’d be here all day.”

“As if that’s my intention.” She’s beaming again, looking straight at me and my chest compresses, inflates dramatically.

Is she interested in spending time with me?

She bites off a chunk of choc-ageddon, and moans, eyes fluttering into the back of her head.

A pin pops my bubble.

No. Not me, it’s the sugar. She wants to stay and indulge.

Then indulge we will.

“Bet big,” I say a bit sharply, dealing her cards. “I’ll buy you the ice cream cake.”

Leni lays down a bigger bet and I raise in return. “How’d you know?” she asks halfway through the hand. “What I wanted?”

I allow myself a few moments just to memorize her, the sweep of her eyes, the curve of her mouth, and the curtain of silky white hair before I wrench a half smile on my face. “As if anyone who’s ever seen a cake made of ice cream hasn’t immediately wondered exactly how it works. You mentioned time sensitive, and only three are left in the case behind me. Or you could be referencing the melt factor, which is also time sensitive.”

“Both,” she confirms, lips pursed, eyes gleaming. “It’s unfair how good you are at that.”

“It’s my job.”

“Almost like a spy or something,” Leni muses, grinning widely as she peels off bits of royal icing from her cookie with her nail.

My bones tighten in excruciating pleasure. She remembers. Every day, she remembers what I tell her, about me, about the Blackguard, the realm.

“You’re the same,” I tell her, upping the bet once again, chewing my lip. “Tell me, right now, what do I desire?”

“What would a deadly immortal spy want?” Her eyes narrow at me and the textbook head tilt makes me hard in a theme park of ducks and mice. “You already have power.”

“Yes.”

“And money.”

I spread my hands in mock apology. “Too much.”

“And no discernable sweet tooth.”

Wrong. “I have restraint.”

She frowns slightly. “And yet you can battle the temptation of an ice cream cake. Which means you have everything you could want.” Her gaze drifts to my mouth, lingers. “Except maybe …”

She jerks suddenly, attention darting from me to her lap. Pink hits her cheeks.

Tension shoots through me like a barbed whip. “What’s wrong?”

Stop, she mouths, fingers lifted on the arm of her chair. Under blue lashes, she flashes me a bright pink smile, flips her cards face down on the table.

I drag in an unsteady breath. “What is it?” A memory?

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