Slay kissed the top of her head and rolled out of bed, offering an excellent view of his bitable ass. Ro admired it until the bathroom door closed behind him, then she put on one of his shirts and headed to the kitchen. As he’d predicted, there was nothing in the refrigerator except ice in the freezer section. The cupboards yielded better results; she found a box of powdered milk, a tin of oats, and a packet of dried fruit. Happy with her find, she got out a pot and measured the water and oats, two to one ratio. She’d made this on a tripod over a fire before, so it should taste okay.
Dried fruit, pinch of sugar, a few spoons of milk powder…
By the time Slay finished washing up, she had steaming bowls of oatmeal ready, and she was happy with how it turned out, creamy and sweet, not bad for a meal created from almost nothing. He seemed amazed as he joined her at the table.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d find anything. You’re incredible!”
“How is it?” she asked, feeling unaccountably shy.
He ate the first spoonful with apparent relish. “Creamy. Sweet. Would you hit me if I added ‘just like you’?”
Ro grinned. “Try it and find out. But I know you didn’t just compare me to a bowl of oatmeal.” She raised her spoon in a mock threatening move.
This is how life should be, laughter at mealtimes over silly things.
“Thanks for breakfast, Ro. I’ve never woken up with someone like this before. And…I’m really into it.”
Startled, she paused mid-bite. “I thought you were with Pru for a long time. Or that’s the impression I got. She didn’t sleep over or cook for you?”
He grimaced a little. “Yeah, I did a lot of shit wrong back then.”
“Everyone does,” she said, returning to her breakfast. “And they learn from their mistakes. I don’t know how you were before, but I’m awed by the person you are now.”
Slay reached across the table, took her hand, and pressed a kiss into her palm. “If you don’t stop being so irresistible, I’m taking you back to bed and licking this oatmeal off you.”
Ro raised a brow and shook her head. “That doesn’t sound remotely enticing.”
He sighed. “I keep trying to make oatmeal sexy, but it can’t be done. I’m sorry.”
“Porridge is not seductive, but it’s filling and nutritious. Eat your breakfast!” Pensively, she added, “I feel like I should tell you that I’m not interested in bringing food into our sex lives. I find it disgusting and so wasteful. Is that disappointing?”
Slay laughed. “I can live without smearing stuff on you, I swear.”
“That’s good,” Rowena said firmly. “Because it’s a line I’m not crossing. Let me eat, shower, and then we can go see Eamon.”
Slay loved watching Ro get dressed.
Not because he wanted her body covered up, but she took such pleasure in picking her next outfit that he basked in that vicarious joy. Today, she had on white dress with lace sleeves. When she moved, it offered tantalizing glimpses of skin. She tied her hair up, revealing the graceful nape of her neck.
“You look gorgeous,” he said, when she sent him a look entreating his opinion.
Ro tilted her head, seeming startled. “How’d you know?”
He paused. How did I know? The mate bond suggested itself as an answer, but he had a certain order in his head dictating how he approached their future. He wouldn’t declare his love impulsively like so many of his other moves.
So Slay lifted a shoulder. “Dunno. I just did. Eamon lives nearby.”
He led the way, but Ro held onto his hand, swinging their arms like she couldn’t be happier, even though this wouldn’t be an easy talk. Hell, her scent might freak Eamon out, but Slay hoped that her Eldritch aspect would let the man cope long enough to hear her out.
Really, he had no idea if Rowena could do any good, but she said the right things to Slay. So why not give it a shot? If Eamon showed any distress, they’d book it out of his space.
“You’re thinking hard,” she said, as they climbed the steps to Eamon’s floor.
Unlike other flats nearby, Eamon’s door was reinforced with metal bands. It would take heavy machinery or a battering ram to break it down. Well, that or a rhino demon shock trooper like those that laid waste to the inner gates of Golgerra.
“Just hoping that I made the right call.”
“I’ll leave if he doesn’t want me there,” Ro promised.
Nodding, Slay knocked briskly, then called, “Hey, bro! Don’t know if you heard, but I’m back. Do you feel like letting us in for a bit?”
With Slay’s sharp ears, he caught movement inside, the other man approaching the door with his customary caution. “Us?”
“I wanted to introduce you to someone special,” Slay said.
She spoke without being prompted. “My name is Rowena. It’s fine if you don’t want me to come in. I realize that I’m a stranger.”
“I’m having a good day, and I haven’t seen Slay in forever. Everyone thought—”
“That I was dead?” Slay supplied.
“Pretty much. Caio suggested having a funeral for you, but neither Dom nor Pru were having it. To hear Pru tell it, there was quite the dustup.”
“You stay remarkably in the loop for somebody who never leaves home,” Slay said, as multiple locks and bolts turned on the other side of the door.
To Slay, Eamon looked much the same when the door widened enough to allow them to slip inside. Quickly, the other man shut and fastened the chain behind them, though he didn’t turn all the bolts. The apartment was exactly as Slay recalled with all the windows covered and paintings lined up all over the place in various stages of completion.
“You’re an artist,” Ro said, kneeling to examine a portrait near the door.
She was careful not to touch anything, Slay noticed, and she straightened without making any sudden movements. Eamon didn’t approach either of them or offer a handshake; Slay knew better than to hug the guy. Like Ro, Eamon didn’t do casual contact, and now that Slay had walked a mile in the other man’s shoes, he could relate to his issues better. Before, he hadn’t been great at seeing shit from someone else’s point of view.
I was kinda an asshole, honestly.
“I don’t have any training,” Eamon said, “but it helps me process.”
Rowena indicated a work across the room. “I love the colors in that one.”
“Thanks.” Eamon gave the right response in abstraction, eyes locked on her. “You don’t have to answer if you prefer not to, but…you’re not Animari, are you?”
Slay read Ro’s tension; she didn’t enjoy being singled out and she didn’t like talking about her heritage. Normally, he wouldn’t ask her to either, but Eamon had to know, or her words wouldn’t reach him. Assuming they even could.
“My mother was Eldritch,” she said quietly. “She told me that my father was a Golgoth guard in the undercity.”
Eamon flinched at the mere mention of the word, his eyes widening. He even took a step back, trembling visibly. Ro didn’t stir or try to reassure him. Maybe she knew instinctively how to respond because she lived with similar trauma.