Page 77 of Star Bringer
He’s squinting out of bloodshot eyes, and he looks a little green around the gills.
Good. I hate suffering alone.
“Are you all right?” Rain asks him.
“I’ll live.” He doesn’t sound as though that’s necessarily a good thing.
Max and Gage appear next, Max carrying a tray with a steaming jug of something I hope is coffee and a bunch of mugs. He puts it on the floor, and we all help ourselves. Except Merrick, who looks like he’s seriously contemplating puking.
“The head’s that way,” I tell him, pointing to the nearest bathroom as I lean against the console behind me and breathe in the steaming coffee. A few cups of this, and I might actually feel human again. Maybe.
I give it a couple more minutes—and another cup of coffee—before I ask, “Anyone know where Kali is?” I try to sound unconcerned.
“She’s still asleep,” Rain replies. “She woke up briefly, rolled over, said it was too early, and went back to snoring. You want me to get her?”
“I’ll go.”
I swallow the last of my coffee, then pour a fresh cup and head out. But I can feel everyone’s gazes on me, so I turn and give them my best don’t-fuck-with-me stare.
No one looks impressed, which doesn’t surprise me. “What?” I growl.
Everyone else has the good sense to look away—even Max. But not Beckett. She just lifts a brow before commenting, “We’re all just wondering what the princess did to deserve coffee in bed.”
Max sniggers.
I ignore them both and head for the room the princess and priestess are sharing. The door is open, but there’s no sign of Kali, except for one foot sticking out from beneath a mound of blankets.
I clear my throat. Nothing.
I knock on the open door.
Still nothing.
“Kali!”
“Go away.”
“I’ve brought coffee.” I move closer to the bed and wave it near where I think her nose—and the rest of her face—might be.
Not that I know if she even likes coffee. I realize I don’t know anything about Kali except that she’s a princess and has a lot more gumption than I originally gave her credit for. Well, that and the fact that she is absolutely, positively not like me—or anyone else I’ve met before.
Eventually, she lowers the blanket and peers up at me, silver eyes gleaming. “Put it on the table and go,” she tells me in full princess mode.
At first, it annoyed the crap out of me every time she used that tone, but now I kind of like it. Whenever it comes out, it means I get to mess with her.
Which is why I stroll toward the bed instead of doing what she said.
“If you want it,” I tell her, “you’ll have to come and get it.”
“I can’t,” she whines. “My head hurts.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have drunk so much of my gerjgin, then.”
“Yourgerjgin?” She snorts and then groans. “Paid for withmybuttons.”
She’s got a point. But not a very good one. “If you want any say in what we do next”—not that it’s up for discussion—“then you’ll be at that meeting. Two minutes.”
I turn and walk away, taking the coffee with me. She had her chance at it, and now it’s mine.
