“Ouch.” I winced in sympathy. “I bet that went over like a lead balloon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I saw you on your date, Goldilocks.” Yes, I made air quotes. Big ones. Really threw my whole body into it. “Your mom probably alphabetized the entire pack’s list of eligible females then checks them off as you burn through them.”
“Necromancers believe in arranged marriages,” he pointed out, sounding tired. “How is this any different?”
“From where I’m standing, it’s no different at all.” I might have slammed the oven door on the toast. The butter on my hands made it slip through my fingers. “I’m not saying they’re all bad. Some of them work out okay. Grier and Linus, for example. I’ve seen it go bad just as often. More often. My parents…”
I worried my bottom lip with my teeth until it bled, a habit from childhood, from the times when I had to bite down to keep from talking back, to keep from screaming, to keep from telling, and the taste brought stinging heat to my left cheek. Surprised when my reflection in the silvery toaster didn’t show the familiar handprint, I touched the skin and felt the distant throb through my memories.
“My parents,” I tried again, remembering my role, “my father, actually, had good luck securing Boaz Pritchard for my sister. Adelaide seems to like him. Maybe like can grow into love over time.”
For both of them.
The spot between my shoulder blades tingled with the force of his stare. “Will they marry you off?”
“No.” I wasn’t a true blood relation, so Mr. Whitaker couldn’t sell me off. Besides, his daughter’s sacrifice had secured his family’s financial stability. He had no need to bother with me, the reminder of his dead daughter, and no wish to, I was sure. “I’m off the hook.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“There’s security in knowing you will marry, even without effort on your part. You can focus on your own pursuits until it’s time to form a partnership and divide your energies. I don’t have that. If I want to marry, I would have to…try.” I felt my lips puckering. “The odds of that happening are slim.”
“You don’t want a mate?”
A person who loved me? All of me? Accepted the dark shadow I would forever cast?
Did such a person exist? Did I want to find them? Only a saint could overlook my past, and I would never outgrow the fear I would fall short of their expectations. I was done living that way. No mate was worth my walking on eggshells for the rest of my life.
“I’ll have plenty of time to worry about a mate after I’m POA.”
“Yes,” he agreed dryly. “You’ll have so much more time when you’re personally responsible for the running of an entire city for your faction.”
Chuckling, I pulled his toast out of the oven and his food out of the microwave. It was nice serving another person a meal I had prepared—granted, last week—rather than eating straight from the takeout box in front of the TV.
“Let me get you a clean glass.” I reached for the one Ford had been using, and Midas caught me by the same wrist. “Oh crap.” Though his grip was light, I couldn’t seem to move. “Ford said not to let you touch me again.”
Midas dropped his arm, flexing his fingers as he tucked his hand back on his lap. “Sorry.”
Figuring the damage had already been done, if that’s how it even worked, I palmed his shoulder. “What’s a few more days?”
Once this case closed, I might not cross paths with him for another year, and all this would be forgotten.
That would be ideal. Yeah. It would be for the best. Definitely. Much less complicated that way.
The muscles beneath my hand clenched, and his breath punched out hard.
I leaned around him. “Are you okay?”
“Touch is…difficult for me.”
“Then it’s my turn to apologize.” I started to withdraw my hand, but he covered it with his. “You don’t have to prove you can endure it.” Feeling his palm go damp, just like last time, I jerked back but had a feeling he had repeated his mistake. “Don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my account.”
Lips parting like he meant to argue, he shut his mouth and nodded agreement, though he didn’t look very happy about it. Not that he ever really looked happy. He looked…sad. Tired. Like he needed a hug when that much physical contact might overload his circuits.
While I swapped out the glasses, he started eating. This time, there was no hesitation. He had shoveled half of it down his throat by the time I rejoined him with a fresh drink.
“It’s good,” he said between bites. “You made it from scratch?”
“Thank you, and yes. I’ve been experimenting this last year. I used to live on takeout. Now I’m trying to be more self-sufficient.” I had only set off the smoke alarm four or five times. “I don’t mind saving the money either. I would cook all my meals if my hours permitted it, but it’s just not practical.”
Curious why this food and not the other passed inspection, I was forced to conclude it did have to do with some male nonsense. Probably the marking issue too. I was no pro on gwyllgi courtship or mating rituals, though I was starting to think I should change that for my own protection. The issue here appeared to be that another male gwyllgi had bought the food to share with me. Therefore, the food was repugnant to Midas.
Thinking it over, I picked up a cold rib and nibbled even as my stomach cut into the button on my jeans.
The shift in Midas’s focus from his plate to my hands startled a flinch out of me.
“Do I have sauce on my chin?” I collected a paper napkin out of the bag and started blotting. “Cheeks? Nose? Cleavage?”
“No.” He resumed eating, but he kept glaring at the bone I set down from the corner of his eye.
Yep.
Definitely male nonsense.
Figuring this was as good a time as any, I made Ford’s pitch. “We need to get ahead of the killer instead of always playing catch-up.”
He lowered his fork. “How do you propose we do that?”
“We need to draw out the killer.”
His very sharp teeth made short work of his toast. “You’re not acting as bait.”
Tapping the rib bone with my fingertip just to watch him scowl, I said, “I was thinking of Bonnie.”
“Oh.” He sipped his water. “She’s not acting as bait either.”
“Why would I be bait?” I licked the sauce off my finger, pretending not to notice him watch the motion with painful intensity, an almost tangible curiosity. “Bonnie is who he wants.”
“He’s following her, which means he’s noticed you. He’s seen you two travel together the past few days, and he’s aware you’ve been rooming together, which is likely why he broke into your apartment. He wants to know what you are to her. Odds are good he wanted to determine if you’re leverage that can be used against her.”
“Classic meet me at the woodshed near the stump with an ax sticking out of it or your friend gets it?”
Midas set the last corner of his toast aside. “You watch horror movies too, don’t you?”