Page 66 of Obsidian and Frost
And then I headed into the bathroom to take that shower.
“What is this?”
“Cinnamon toast,” Sylas informed me, as he picked up a slice from his plate and took a bite.
A murmur of appreciation had my gaze darting to his lips, a spark of… something… rolling through me as his tongue dipped out and licked up some excess sugar from his bottom lip.
Jeez.I looked away quickly and stared down at the toast.
“Not oatmeal?”
“Not this morning. When I’m here, I like to go the toast route. They don’t have this on the Dining Hall menu at the Academy.”
I sniffed it, the cinnamon making my nose scrunch when I scented too deeply.
It earned a chuckle from him.
“Shut it,” I said, nudging him with my elbow.
I took a bite then and it wassogood. The taste exploded on my tongue, somehow both sweet and tart, yet perfectly balanced.
“Good, hmm?”
“So good,” I admitted, through a mouthful.
He seemed to like that, laughing again.
We sank into an easy rhythm, eating away at our toast, and taking sips of the coffee he’d made in between. Apparently, he’d actually made it, not conjured any of it.
I looked down at myself in my black tank with my forest-green hoodie over it, my gray cargo pants, all of it clean and fresh again, because he’d conjured them clean—and pressed—for me. I’d found them hanging up on the bathroom door when I’d stepped out of the shower.
“So, is there a story behind the toast? I mean, it’s kind of specific. Not like margarine and toast. Jam, even.”
“My mom used to make it for my sister and I. Comfort food. I took to making it for breakfast most mornings.”
I flinched as the full weight of his response registered. “Usedto?”
He kept his eyes on his toast as he answered, “She died. My little sister too.” He took a sip from his coffee. “Several years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, several years ago.”
“How was that possible? You’re a necromancer, you control death, in essence.”
“They weren’t what I am. They were sorceresses. And they were...” He shifted his weight and forced his gaze to mine. “They were murdered.”
I started. “Shit. That’s… that’s fucking brutal.”Hold on.“Is that why you became a vigilante?”
“We’ll call it the catalyst. But it became about more than that.” He ground his jaw. “Those with greater power should never be permitted to inflict suffering or control upon those weaker.”
I liked that. A lot.
“What about your dad? He has to be the necromancer then, where you got it from?”
“He’s dead as well. And that’s a mercy—on the entire supernatural world.” He took another sip from his coffee. “He was a megalomaniacal bastard. My mom kicked him out when I was a kid. He was raising an army of death dealers—vampires, Shadowmancers, Dark Fae. The Guardian Movement stopped him. He was killed during that battle.”
“Wow, that’s… a lot. I’m so sorry.” I laid my hand on his arm. “You’re a world away from that. The complete opposite of him.”
