Page 214 of The Wishing Game

"So? Whose fault is that?" I grumble.

"I have chocolate."

My ears perk up.

"Ch-chocolate?" I clear my throat.

I did not eat enough considering I've been famished since we arrived in Arche. And chocolate does sound nice. But it's also coming from my number one archnemesis, the insufferable Ze, whose name isn't even Ze.

"Yes. I have chocolate. The most expensive kind," he adds proudly.

Once more, my stomach betrays me, my mouth watering just thinking about the chocolate.

Why does this have to be my weakness? Well, chocolate and cute things. I couldn't say no to Belinda either.

I release a weary sigh, the battle ninety-nine percent lost.

And the last one percent is not strong enough to hold out againstchocolate.

Before I can think with the more developed part of my brain—the one that's not chasing the high of serotonin—I find myself opening the door and coming face to face with Ze.

Azerius, not Ze, I mentally correct myself.

I still can't wrap my mind around how different he looks. Those symbols on his face change his entire countenance, and up close, they are even more terrifying.

There's a deadlier edge to him that wasn't there before—even when I thought him dangerous enough. This new perception of him might have something to do with the fact that he appears even bigger than before—so much so I barely reach the middle of his chest, and I'm wearing heels.

There's an icy current surrounding him, the air crackling and vibrating around him with a heavy energy.

I don't let myself get rattled, though, and, pushing my chin up, I stare him in the eye.

"So?" I raise a brow. "Where's my chocolate?"

"I shall give it to you if you let me treat your wound," he replies smoothly.

I narrow my eyes, scanning him up and down. There's no chocolate! I should have known he was lying.

With an annoyed huff, I push the door in his face—locking it for good measure. As I turn, however, I come face to face with him.

"No door can hold me, human. You should have realized this by now," he murmurs, his tone oddly soft.

I regard him with suspicion. He's planning something.

"You're being rude,Azerius." I clear my throat.

His lips thin, his nostrils flaring.

"I amnotbeing rude," he grits out. "I am beingnice. I will heal you now."

He reaches for my injured palm, but I slap his hand aside.

"No one asked you. Please leave," I say as I move to the side and gesture toward the door. Or even better, he can use those disappearing skills of his to get the hell out of my room.

"It was my fault," he adds in a low voice, his eyes affixed to the red stain on the napkin I'm holding to my cut.

"I won't hold it against you." I roll my eyes. "You're absolved. Now you can go." I wave him to the door—again.

He doesn't move.

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