It might be that Lijuan’s visits had been the most joyful thing in his existence.
I hate her more each time I look at him.
Illium’s eyes met his. Yes. I knew she was a monster, but this . . .
Jinhai kept on eating.
Every so often, however, he’d glance at the window. Three times, he got up, stuck his hand through the one Illium had left cracked open, then returned to the table. By the time he leaned back in his chair, he’d eaten his way through what was in actuality a small amount of food for an angel of his age—immortal childhood growth required fuel, so young angels tended to eat.
Still, he appeared satiated. He’d just cracked his mouth in a huge yawn when the watch on Illium’s wrist made a noise that had him jerking to attention.
Looking down, Illium tapped a finger on the screen a few times, then took off the device. “Here.” He held it out to Jinhai. “You want it?”
The boy hesitated.
Illium grinned—that wicked, playful grin that charmed the world and made Aodhan shake his head in affection. “Let me show you something.” He tapped the screen once to bring up an image of blocks. When he tapped it again, the blocks fell apart. “Use your fingers to move them back into place.”
From what Aodhan and Illium had discovered in the cavern, Jinhai’d had no exposure to current technology, but he picked up the game within minutes. Illium continued to give him instructions with the warm patience that made him a favorite of children and small creatures, until even this boy raised in the cold dark offered him a small smile.
Another conquest, Aodhan thought with an inward smile as he leaned back and let his friend take over. His sister had asked him once if he ever got jealous of Illium’s way of making friends and charming people wherever he went.
The idea had been such a foreign concept to him that he’d just stared at her. Illium’s heart, his unfettered joy in life, his playfulness, all the things that made him so attractive to others, were the same things that had first drawn Aodhan to him. He could still remember Illium coming up to him, asking if he wanted to go play. Aodhan could’ve never been so brave; he’d been one to stand back, watch the world.
No, he’d never envied Illium’s way with people. He adored that part of him as much as he did all the parts most of the world never saw—even when the blue-winged angel pushed him to the edge of endurance.
In front of him, Jinhai fought heavy eyelids.
“You can play after a rest,” Aodhan murmured. “If you like, we’ll bring in blankets and pillows so you can sleep next to the windows.”
A ragged nod was the answer.
Leaving Illium with him, Aodhan went to grab the bedding. He returned to find Jinhai tucked into a large window nook that boasted a cushioned seat. This was an old stronghold—the cold had to be coming through the glass, but the boy had turned that way, curling his body inward. The watch sat on his left wrist, his right hand cupped possessively over it even in sleep.
He didn’t stir when Aodhan tucked a pillow under his head and covered him in the blankets. Afterward, he and Illium moved close to the fire, from where the boy had no hope of hearing their conversation. “Can he do anything dangerous with that watch?”
“No,” Illium said. “I blocked everything except the games—and the GPS tracker. We don’t have to keep him in sight as long as he has that on his wrist. I can find him using my phone.”
Clever Bluebell. “He won’t be able to get far in this snow, regardless.” It was coming down in sheets now. “For better or worse, we’re stuck here.” He and Illium were powerful enough to fly through the snow, but not with Jinhai and the staff.
“Li Wei’s people can come into the kitchen if they need to,” Illium began, but Aodhan shook his head.
“I spoke to her when I went to get the bedding. Anyone who needed food ate well before our return, and the vampires fed then as well.” Li Wei had a timetable and her team knew to follow it. “The ones who had the swing shift are all already asleep, while the rest of them intend to continue their work in the east wing—they won’t need breakfast for at least two more hours.”
“How about you?” Illium pushed a hand through his hair. “Up for a proper meal? That tray wasn’t anywhere near enough for me.”
“Yes, and you need a haircut.” He tugged on the strands that had already fallen right back over Illium’s eye.
A lopsided grin. “Remember that time—”
“—when we were little angels and I gave you a haircut?” He shook his head when Illium grinned. “No. Eh-ma would not forgive such a massacre a second time around.”
Wicked laughter in the aged gold. “Come on, scaredy, let’s eat.” His wing brushed Aodhan’s chest as he moved past.
Happy . . . just happy, Aodhan followed him into the kitchen—but made sure to leave the door ajar. He didn’t think Jinhai was in any mood to attempt an escape, but he might panic at waking up alone. At least this way, he’d hear the sounds of their voices, be able to find them.
“Yes, let’s,” he said once he was in the kitchen proper. “I haven’t eaten properly for a few days.”
Illium had moved enough around the counter by then that Aodhan could see him, so he caught the sudden tightness of his jaw.
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re about to bite your tongue in half.”
A shrug, the fluid ripple of muscle. “Someone keeps biting off my head for daring to care, so zip.” He mimed zipping up his mouth—but those golden eyes were doing plenty of talking.
Provoked, Aodhan muttered, “Missing Kai, are you?”
“What?” Illium scowled. “Since she was up when we got home, she’s probably asleep now.”
Aodhan expected to see yearning on Illium’s face at the reminder of the mortal woman. All he saw was irritation. Aimed squarely at Aodhan. “I am not biting off your head,” he said as they gathered supplies for the huge sandwiches to which they were both partial.
Illium hummed a happy tune—and ignored him.
“Illium.”
His friend opened up a roll of salami that one of the mortals had prepared from hunted meat. “Do you want a piece of this?” He whacked at the salami like it had done him a personal insult.
Temper igniting, Aodhan clamped his hand around Illium’s wrist. It flexed under his touch, strong and with the tendons taut. But Illium didn’t make any violent gestures. He just said, “I need my hand to chop this.”
It was the second time Illium had rejected contact with him and he hated it as much as the first time. Regardless, he forced his fingers to open. “What is wrong with you?” he ground out as he tore a large loaf of sourdough bread in half. “I thought we were—”