Chapter 5 Hangry
Chapter five
Hangry
Sorren
“Seriously? One room?” Nora’s voice rises, louder and more irritated by the second. “What is this? A joke? Some rom-com BS?”
The hotel manager she’d called over blinks rapidly. “I assure you, Miss, this is no joke. The hotel is full. Families have come from all over the state for the Golden Egg Hunt tomorrow. It’s the centennial. They have all kinds of special events planned.”
“Yes, yes,” Nora says, waving her hand. “We know all about it. But we need a room with two beds. We’d even take doubles.”
The man holds up a plastic keycard. “You’re lucky we have this room. It’s only because the elderly couple who was supposed to have it canceled. Said they’d picked up a cold from their grandkids.”
Nora opens her mouth to argue some more, but I take the keycard from the manager and touch her elbow lightly.
“I think you’re hungry,” I say, steering us away from the desk. The scent of something warm and savory drifts down the hallway. “We haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”
“Why?” she says, swaying slightly as she walks. She drags a hand over her face as if she’s trying to wipe the day off. Her voice comes out thin, like she’s trying to joke but doesn’t have the energy to pull it off. “Do you want a salad, rabbit boy?”
A small smile pulls at my mouth.
“Some lettuce does sound nice,” I reply.
“I bet it does.” Nora rolls her eyes at me.
In my world, no one would dare show such open defiance to a prince.
I find I rather like it.
We round the corner, and I spot the hotel restaurant, which does, indeed, have a salad bar.
Nora’s not wrong.
When I traveled with my father in the past, I loved these quick-service restaurants. They’re predictable. Efficient. Nothing like my home with its elaborate banquet halls and seven-course meals.
The server seats us in the back corner and says we can hit the salad bar right away. We take chilled plates over and fill them with veggies. Nora lifts a brow when I put carrots on top, but she doesn’t say anything.
I add another scoop.
Then a third.
“You’re aware this is not helping the rabbit stereotype,” she says dryly.
I put the fourth scoop back into its container, hoping she doesn’t notice.
We eat in silence until the waiter delivers our drinks. More coffee for Nora and apple juice for me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You were right. I was getting hangry.”
“You’ve had a difficult couple of days,” I reply.
She huffs out a breath that might be a laugh, if it didn’t fade so fast.
Up close, I can see the shadows beneath her eyes. The way her shoulders slope forward, as though she is holding herself up by sheer will alone. She barely slept last night. Instead, she sat beside me while I healed. Watched me. Gave of herself when I asked, even knowing what it would cost.
I am not accustomed to being cared for.
Guarded, yes. Trained. Managed. Observed.
But not…this.
“Eat,” I say quietly.
She blinks at me.
“You need your strength.”
Something in her expression softens before she looks back down at her plate. “So we can raid magical eggs?”
“So we may return to the salad bar one more time.”
She smiles at that, her posture relaxing.
She pays the bill, since I possess no human money, and we go upstairs to the room. It’s generic. White walls and a white bedspread. A bedside clock that glows red.
Nora yawns and stretches with her arms up over her head. “Now what? It’s only three p.m.”
I pull back the sheets and pat the bed. “Now you sleep. Nap. We can’t get near the egg today, so we rest and gather our strength.”
She looks to the bed, then to me. “What’re you going to do?”
I point to a chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll sit over there. If I nod off, I’ll be fine. I can sleep sitting up.”
She hesitates, then glances down at the sheets, up at the headboard.
“You remained awake last night so that I might heal,” I add. “You should not have to do so again.”
Something in her expression shifts. “It’s okay. You can use the bed too. We’ll just each stay on our side. Okay?”
I raise my hands. “No. You sleep. I’ll keep watch. It’s my job.”
Her hand swings forward, one finger pointed straight at me. She scowls, clearly attempting intimidation.
It’s…kind of adorable. Endearing. I stifle my smile, knowing it will only aggravate her.
“You hardly slept last night as well,” Nora says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice all that yawning you did in the car. Besides…” Her hands ball on her hips. “I’m not anyone’s responsibility.”
“While you’re with me,” I say, “you are.”
Mine to guard. Mine to protect.
The words rise, unbidden, but I swallow them down. I may not have known Nora Hayes for long, but I already understand she is not a woman who yields. Not easily, anyway.
Pushing further would gain me nothing.
“Very well,” I say at last.
The words taste like surrender, though I do not mean them as such.
“If you will not sleep alone, then we will share the bed.” I walk over and pull my side of the sheets down. “We’ll put pillows between us.”
I stay true to my word, carefully constructing a fortress of pillows around myself with another pile shoved to Nora so she can arrange them however she likes.
It’s not until I lay down that I realize how right she is.
Fatigue settles over me in a crushing wave, heavy and inescapable.
My father’s death. The flight from my uncle.
It all catches up to me. I am exhausted, worn out both emotionally and physically.
It doesn’t help that I’m constantly wondering what’s happening in my kingdom right now.
Wondering what my uncle is up to. Who’s suffering because I’m not there to protect them.
The mattress dips, and my wall of pillows trembles when Nora climbs in on her side.
I go still.
The barrier of pillows between us should be sufficient. It’s what I requested. What I insisted upon.
And yet…it changes nothing.
I can feel the heat of her through the thin space that separates us. Hear the slow rhythm of her breathing, the rustle of the sheets as she rolls over.
Toward me?
Or away?
I have done my job too well. I can’t see her over the pillow wall, and yet her scent lingers on the air, warm, clean, and uniquely hers.
The rabbit in me lifts its nose and scents. I freeze, my heart speeding.
My kind’s sense of smell is…difficult to describe to those who do not share it. It is extraordinarily sensitive, so precise that we can detect the pheromones released during moments of strong emotion. In my land, we’re trained from childhood to use it as others might use sight or sound.
To track fear. Illness. Aggression.
To detect a lie before it is spoken. To know when danger stands too close.
It takes skill and patience to use that sense. It’s not something I can tune in to when I’m on the run, active, or distracted, but here, in the stillness of the hotel room, with the blinds drawn and my vision dimmed, my sense of smell rises up and explores like it is its own living thing.
Carefully it bridges across the divide of bed and pillows.
Searching.
Until it finds her.
She’s awake. I can hear it in her breathing, but, more than that, I can scent it.
She’s awake, and she’s…
No…
Maybe…
Aroused?
I pull air into my nose, and there is it. Something sweet, yet heated. Feminine but untamed. The smell of wild roses that climb a trellis in a hidden, forgotten garden. It’s unmistakable. Universal, yet specific only to Nora.
But why? Who?
Is she thinking of me?
Of that odious ex-boyfriend, Seth?
It better not be Seth.
My hands clench into fists at the thought.
Suddenly I’m not tired anymore. I’m wide awake. I’m wishing my magic powers included telepathy so I could see into her mind and heart.
To know if it’s me that she wants.
It hits me. My mate is in the room with me. In the same bed. Inches away. The animal part of me that acts on instinct alone scrabbles against its cage, claws digging into my mind as it strains toward her.
It begs me to move, to act, to claim what is mine.
I roll away and pull a pillow over my head.
***
Nora
There’s something wrong with me.
I’m supposed to be asleep. Or at the very least planning for tomorrow. My life is in danger. My mother’s life is in danger.
And yet…
All I can think about is the man, rabbit, next to me.
I hold my breath, listening as hard as I can, as though I might be able to track the slow rise and fall of his breathing through the wall of pillows between us. Like if I really focus, I might hear his heartbeat.
Can he hear mine? Like earlier, in the car.
My skin remembers things my mind does not want to.
The bite.
The way my body went loose and heavy beneath his hands.
The way his arm flexed when he lifted my bag and placed it in the car.
The way his eyes followed me in the restaurant when I was too tired to keep my sarcasm sharp. Too overwhelmed to pretend I had everything under control.
Sorren had known what to do.
How to feed me. How to steady me. How to make the world feel smaller. Safer.
I’ve dated men for months, years, and none of them ever looked at me the way he does. Like he’s cataloguing me. Memorizing me. Like I matter.
My stomach twists with too many emotions to name. Need. Confusion.
How can this be? How can I want someone I met yesterday this badly?
Is it the bond?
Or is it him?
Because when I close my eyes, it’s not magic I’m thinking about.
It’s the way his hands would feel on my hips. His lips against mine.
Ugh. It’s all so confusing. So frustrating.
I roll to one side. Then to the other. Fluff my pillow and then flatten it down.
It doesn’t help. I’m still too warm. Too restless.
Still very, very conscious of him.
My traitorous brain supplies another image—Sorren in my kitchen, broad shoulders filling the doorway. His hand at my waist. My back against the counter.
His mouth on my wrist, my neck, my breast.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is ridiculous.
We’re on the run from his homicidal magical uncle. We’re about to break into a giant cursed egg.