Page 86 of Wings of Betrayal

Cocky bastard. “I need some pants.”

He chuckles under his breath, pushes off from the doorway, and crosses the room toward me. I back up until I can’t go any farther, and he stops a few inches from me, his eyes locked on mine. He reaches around, opens a drawer to pull out a pair of pants, and hands them to me.

“You’re welcome to try these, but something tells me they won’t fit.” He looks me up and down before leaving the room, and he closes the door, finally giving me some privacy.

I hold the pants out, which are enormous. Gods above, these aren’t going to fit. I try them anyway, and they fall down, so I give up. The T-shirt is long enough, reaching down to just above my knees, so it’ll have to do.

I open the door and find him sitting at the end of a long, black table, and I immediately smell the food he has prepared. He gestures to the seat next to him, so I pad over and sit down. The food looks and smells delicious—fried bacon and other vegetables I haven’t seen before—and I tuck right in. It’s incredible.

Glancing around, I notice how nice his place is. The room is bright with white walls and light wood floors, with a large open-plan style kitchen, dining, and living room. It’s not where I would picture a watcher to live. Least of all this one.

“There’s juice here or coffee. Which do you prefer?” he asks.

I swallow my mouthful and lick my lips. “Coffee, please.”

He pours me some, and the first sip immediately reminds me of Kyle. Gods above, I miss him. He’s probably worried sick about me.

“Better than those ‘happy drinks’ from last night?” he asks with a smirk before taking a sip of his coffee.

I laugh. “No, probably not. But still good. Thank you. For all this.”

“You’re welcome.” Shaking his head, he takes a bite of his food, then points his fork at me. “You are a worry. You could’ve gotten us killed last night.”

I move the food around my plate with my fork. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect to see Atticus, or for him to lie about being my father.”

I pick up my mug and hold it in both hands, enjoying the warmth.

“Maybe it’s not a lie,” he suggests. “You warm enough?”

I set my mug down and stretch my arms above my head. “I’m fine, thanks. And it is a lie. I know he’s my father.”

He scratches his chin and studies me.

“What?” I ask, adjusting my T-shirt and suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He shrugs. “Nothing. It’s just… It’s nice being around a female for a change. I could get used to it.”

This male never ceases to surprise me. I didn’t realise watchers could be so kind and have so much depth. The only one I have really spent any length of time with is Zalore. And he’s not the best example to go by.

I smile at Grazen and take the last bite of my food before carrying my plate into the kitchen and rinsing it off.

“You don’t have to clean up,” he says, clearing the table and bringing the dishes into the kitchen. “Sit down, please.”

“It’s not a problem,” I tell him but take a seat again at the table. “I should probably make my way back to Silanthia. There will be many who are worried about me.”

He leans back against the edge of the kitchen bench, bracing himself with his hands, and I can tell he has more to say.

“What is it?” I prompt.

He runs his hands down his face. “This could get me killed.”

Rising, I move toward the kitchen and stop before him, giving his forearm a squeeze. “You can trust me.”

His focus drops to my hand. “Okay, then. There’s something you should know.”

I should step away from him, but I feel he needs some cajoling, so I don’t. “All right, then.”

He shuffles from one foot to the other and then refocuses his gaze on mine. “Zalore is working with Amaros.”

---