Page 62 of Veil of Death and Shadow

“You scared the shit out of me, Menace,” I announced, as if my overreaction wasn’t abundantly obvious to the both of us. “A little warning next time, yeah?”

But the crow didn’t go for his usual welcoming nuzzle, nor did he attack the small cup of peanuts Sora had left out on the small balcony table.

Instead, he went soaring into the kitchen, the crack of his caw amplified by the silence of the apartment.

If I’d still been holding the cup, I would certainly have dropped it now.

The hooded figure from the street stood in the kitchen, cursing and trying to dodge Menace as he flew towards him.

Fingers trembling, I stepped inside, reaching aimlessly for the closest thing that might be used as a weapon. Realistically, in a kitchen, that should have been a knife, but we kept those downstairs where they got the most use. We almost never cooked up here. No need when we had access to a much more efficient kitchen in the diner.

That left Sora’s metal water bottle as the best option, so I grabbed it and thrust it in front of me, wielding it like a sword. “What the hell are you doing in here? Get out. Now.”

The man had regained his composure, though he turned towards Menace as if it was him I was interrogating.

“Not the bird,” I snapped. “You.” And, because for some reason my brain decided it needed to be clarified, I added, “The crow lives here.”

Slowly, as if he still wasn’t sure, the hooded man turned back to me, his face still hidden from sight. “Me?”

“You see any other creepy cloaked men in here?”

He slid the hood off, and I found myself looking at familiar hazel eyes.

My bottle-wielding arm relaxed. “Kieran?”

“Uh,” his gaze darted about the room like he was just as confused as I was, “yeah. So you—uh,” he wet his lips and my focus stalled on them briefly, “you remember me then?”

“Do people usually forget you after you fuck them against a wall?” I studied him, not entirely sure whether I was terrified or angry or confused by his intrusion. Probably all three, if I was being honest. And a tiny, traitorous part of my brain was maybe even a little excited. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. “What’s with the cloak? It’s summer.”

“Bad hangover. Sun and,” he gestured vaguely around the room, not pointing to anything specific, “this can all be a bit abrasive until my eyes have had a bit to adjust.” He blinked. “And I don’t feel warm.”

“I—” I didn’t know what to say in response to that, so it was probably better to move to the more pressing issues. “How did you get inside? I locked the door behind me.”

He shrugged. “Locks aren’t a problem for me.”

“And you think what—” I narrowed my eyes, “that makes it okay to break into people’s places, just because you can?”

“I didn’t break anything.” He arched his brow, the earlier surprise evaporating from his expression to make room for something more . . . smug.

“Not the point,” I shot back. My pulse was fluttering like a hummingbird, and I couldn’t be entirely sure how much of it was from fear or how much was from the way his eyes roved over me, the echo of hunger from last week still preening at the surface. “Why are you stalking me? When I was walking home—” and then, recalling even earlier than that, I lifted the water bottle higher, “and at the med center. You were there—looking in through the window, right?”

“Hm, so it’s not just this building that breaks through then.” He tapped the wall, as if inspecting for a hollow spot. “Thought it might be infused, similar to the club but,” he shook his head, gaze landing on me, “it must just be you.”

What the fuck was he on about?

“I don’t remember you talking in half answers and riddles last week.”

There was a wicked glint in his eyes as they narrowed on me. “As I recall, we didn’t do much talking last week.”

I swallowed, lost for words at the taunting smirk on his face.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite parse, and I felt suddenly like a mouse cornered by a cat. “You’re an unusual girl, Mareena.”

“You followed me home and then broke into my apartment,” I jostled the bottle in his direction, the water sloshing in a way that was not at all threatening, “all while dressed in sorcerer cosplay—and you think I’m the unusual one?”

“A fair point.” The side of his mouth twitched, briefly, into a sharp hook that had my stomach tightening. That particular smirk, and the memory of how it felt pressed against my skin, had had a recurring role in my dreams this last week. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think you would remember, let alone see me.”

“In what world would that make me feel any better?”

---