Page 22 of Bad Bunny
When I do, she’s pouring herself a cup of something dark that steams. “Want some?” she asks, deliberately not looking me in the eye.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “What is it?”
“The best thing on earth.” She blows on it, takes a sip, lets out a soft, satisfied sigh. “Coffee.”
“Very well.”
Her eyes widen when I take the cup out of her hand and drink.
Something bitter detonates across my tongue. I choke, stagger to the sink, and spit it out with considerably less dignity than I would prefer.
“What is this vile concoction?” I demand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“That,” she says calmly, “is how most adults start their day.”
“On purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Regularly?”
“Every morning.”
I stare down into the cup like it has personally wronged me. “This explains a great deal.” I hand it back to her with a grimace.
Nora takes it and wraps both hands around the mug. I try not to watch the way she leans in, the steam ghosting over her full lips as she blows across the surface of the drink. Try not to notice the way she licks her lips, right before she drinks.
Desire rolls through me anyway, low and insistent, a heaviness that gathers in my stomach.
For a reckless instant, I imagine crossing the room, pulling her back into my arms, and tasting the sweetness of her mouth the way I tasted her blood last night.
I look away before the thought can grow too big for me to contain.
The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable.
To scare her away.
Like the fox does to the rabbit.
She takes another sip, then sets the mug on the counter and turns back to me, hands spread. “What now?”
“Did you check with your mother? Is she well?” I ask.
“Yes.” She smiles faintly. “She and Aunt Renee stayed up until two a.m. playing poker and watching movies.” She shakes her head fondly. “Sometimes when those two get together, they revert back to their college years, I swear. How about you? Are you recovered?”
“I am healed,” I answer.
The words feel insufficient, especially given how she helped me. Saved me. Trusted me enough to let me draw on the bond between us. If it hadn’t been for her, my uncle would be king now. The Crown of Willow perched on his head.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I am supposed to be strong. Unshakable. A ruler. I have not shown that to her yet. Instead, my mate has seen me broken. Shaking. Begging. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach for something, to prove I am not as weak as she saw me last night.
I wish I had a weapon to protect her. Fight for her.
I wish I could touch her. Show the tenderness I would give only to her.
Instead, I force myself still. A king does not act from impulse. A king acts with his mind before his hands.
I swallow hard, then change the subject. “Your plan, the one you mentioned last night, is a good one,” I acknowledge. “Ifwe leave, the hunters will follow and hopefully not notice the presence of your kin.”
