Page 50 of Wrath
While he waited for the other shoe to drop, he admired how pretty she was after waking. This was the second time he’d seen her in the morning, and her vibrancy was no less diminished. Her blond hair had taken a life of its own, and his fingers twitched to touch. Was it just him, because of his connection with her? Or did the whole world see her this way?
“So,” Misha said, finishing her packing. “I was thinking that I really need to go to my happy place and do some salutations. It’s the best way to start a morning and, to be honest, if we top it off with some meditation, you’ll probably find it really helps with your”—she screwed up her face and made a mincing motion with her hands—“you know, your squashing things.”
He knew how to meditate. He didn’t need another teacher—had one for almost a decade of combat and martial arts training. Once, he’d spent the day with other novitiates learning to balance on a wooden pole with one foot. They’d had to balance on top of that pole for an entire day, remain calm with their heart rate under control, while being pelted with pebbles continuously, all without falling off. He’d been the last remaining novitiate balancing on the pole.
Meditation was not his problem. He was fine.
Wyatt put his hands on his hips and paced away, but like a magnet, his gaze drew back to Misha and her infectious grin.
“So, what do you say?” She beamed. “Up for a little resistance training? It’s the least I can do to say thank you for your help.”
If it meant spending more time with her, then he’d do it. He may be quick to react, he may be hot headed, but his stubbornness could have its benefits. Quitting wasn’t really his thing, he’d do well to remember that.
A pang in his chest at the memory of Evan staunching the blood flowing from Wyatt’s neck. His consciousness had faded in and out, but the sound of Evan’s strained voice still carried to him.“A Lazarus never quits.”It was the family mantra Wyatt had started in high school. Get kicked down, get back up again. Get hurt, or bullied, keep on trucking. But Wyatt had quit after Sara, and he was ashamed of it.
He nodded to Misha.Let’s go.
“Excellent. Here take this roll.” She handed him a yoga mat and did a little happy dance. “We’ll get some coffee on the way and, you’ll see, everything will make sense after.”
He doubted that, but fine.Lead the way, Duchess.
He hesitated outside the studio. They should probably head straight to his apartment, it was safer that way, but he’d not seen a peep of pursuit all night. After the injuries he’d given Dimitri, it was likely he’d not come after them immediately.
“Please.” Misha implored with her eyes. “I really need coffee.”
Wyatt sighed. Once again, he found himself powerless against her wishes. They were most likely safe for now, and he was fine functioning without sleep. He motioned for Misha to lead the way. Twenty minutes later and they’d passed three cafés. The clouds brewed with promised rain, and Wyatt was beginning to think she took him on a wild goose chase until she stopped out the front of a little brew house on the east-side of the Quadrant.
The shop was nothing but a customer service counter in a wall. Behind the counter were two beach-bum looking men, a cappuccino machine and a manual slow-drip coffee brewer.
“Hi Brian,” Misha said, grinning at the barista who wore a slouchy beanie.
The man looked up from cleaning his machine, and when his eyes beheld Misha, they sparkled. “Wassup, sunshine?”
Misha turned to Wyatt. “These guys make the best coffee in the city. Well worth the extra long detour.”
He’d believe it after he drank it.
“Ah, a non-believer,” Brian said before turning to his friend stocking the small fridge behind them. “We have a non-believer, bro.”
The smaller man had long dreadlocks. “We love non-believers.”
Misha’s grin widened, and they all shared knowing glances with each other, as if Wyatt’s mind was about to get blown by their incredible coffee. But Wyatt knew food. He knew coffee. He knew wine. There was no way this tiny, dinky piece of negligible real estate brewed the best coffee in the city.
The little bastards looked increasingly smug as they prepared two coffees in takeaway cups and then handed them to Misha.
“Best coffee in the city, or it’s on the house,” claimed the beanie guy.
Wyatt scoffed through his teeth and picked up the cup. He removed the protection cap and took a whiff, letting the aroma infuse his senses. Everything inside him relaxed.
Misha took a sip of her drink. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned sensualy, savoring the flavor as if it was sex in a cup.
“So good.” She licked her lips, still with her eyes shut.
Wyatt had to agree, and he hadn’t even tasted it.
Her eyes popped open, completely oblivious to the three male gazes of appreciation pointed her way. A slow crooked smile curved his lips. She was so eager for his approval on the coffee, he didn’t have the heart to let her down.
He hesitated.
