Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Nothing is going to go wrong?” I parrot Morrigan’s promise as I follow him up a never-ending spiral staircase to his apartment that must be at a higher altitude, considering all the steps we’ve already climbed with no end in sight.
I give him my most damning look. “How about every single thing went wrong?”
He smirks as he effortlessly scales each step. “For a scholar, you’re very dramatic.”
I want to rail at him that finding fault with being caught mid-grab as I snatched the key from the very angry hyena shifter, and then being chased through the market and half of the city by his pack, is not dramatic, but I know I’ll need every bit of oxygen I possess to continue my journey up this Mount Everest of architecture.
He seems to read my thoughts on my face. “As jobs go, it wasn’t the smoothest, but it did tell me that we make a good team.”
“By what standard of measure does the chaos of the last two hours point to us working well together?”
“There’s always chaos.” He waves his hand, dismissing today’s pandemonium as if it were nothing. “But pulling the fire alarm at the market to get the crowd between us and our pursuers was a clever move.” His eyes shine with praise that I can’t look away from. “Good job.”
His compliment feels strange to my ears.
As a child, I was used to my grandmother’s constant scolding for being useless at magics.
In the Order, all my scholarly achievements were met with an unimpressed sternness.
The unfamiliar surge of pleasure at being told I’m good at something makes me simultaneously giddy and awkward, leaving me unsure of how to respond.
I settle on changing the subject. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying with you tonight?”
After we finally evaded the hyena shifters, and Morrigan asked where he could find me the next day, I froze.
I’d been so fixated on finding him and convincing him to help me retrieve the orb, I hadn’t given a thought about where I was spending the night.
I looked around the busy city street and saw a quiet park bench next to a tree that would have to be my temporary lodgings for the night.
I’d be cold and scared, but by tomorrow, we should be on our way to The Wilds, where the Albasynnian Coven was located.
Morrigan had followed my gaze to the park bench and must have guessed my plans.
“No fucking way,” he said, taking my hand in his and dragging me with him down the street. “You’re going home with me.”
“You don’t have to take me in,” I protested.
“I know I don’t,” he told me. “But I won’t get any rest knowing my favorite smart boy is out sleeping rough.
Besides, having you at my nest will give us a chance to make plans on exactly how we’re going to steal the orb.
” I liked the sound of “we” too much to make any more objections and dutifully followed him home.
Now here I am, my hand still tingling from his remembered grasp, following him up into the heavens one step at a time. “Do you really make this trek up and down stairs every time?” I ask as we round another curve of the wrought iron staircase.
“I’ve never used them, actually. I usually fly.”
Of course. Why would a raven shifter bother with stairs? Being around him is having a profound effect on my deduction skills.
We take one more twisted turn that leads to a red-painted door. “This is it,” he says as he pushes it open.
“You don’t lock it?”
He grins at me and taps my collared shirt that is buttoned up to my Adam’s apple. “The best way to attract a thief is to lock something up.”
I don’t have a response, and he waves me inside. “Welcome to my nest.”
I stop inside the doorway. The space isn’t very big.
Its half-circle shape has barely enough room for a large round bed and a micro-utility kitchen with a door that leads to what I assume is the bathroom.
The smallness of the room doesn’t matter, though.
The room is all windows and gives the impression of limitless space as the glittering lights of the city amongst the darkening sky surround us.
The view is more than worth the Himalayan hike it took to reach it.
“It’s beautiful,” I gasp
“I’d hoped you’d like it.”
There’s a burr to his voice that causes me to glance away from the breathtaking view and over at him. The sight is no less stunning. His startling blue eyes are regarding me with an intensity that makes me almost feel his gaze as a touch.
Is he planning on taking my power? Here? Now?
We did make a deal. He has every right to demand the payment I promised him.
At the idea, I’m immediately terrified. This is the one subject I have not spent enough time studying.
Will it be as passion-filled as our encounter in the library, or will it be as cold and clinical as the business deal that it is?
I glance down at his bed nervously and then back to him.
“I know what you need,” he states confidently.
“Y-y-you do?” I stammer.
He slowly nods and takes a few determined steps toward me. In his small apartment, it’s enough that he is standing right up against me. I hold my breath, and my eyelids begin to close in anticipation of the kiss I’m sure I’m about to receive.
“Excuse me,” he says politely. My eyes flash open. I realize he’s trying to move past me. With an embarrassed squeak, I quickly move aside as he enters his kitchen and begins collecting ingredients. “You need food.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, but my stomach contradicts me by making a loud, embarrassing rumble.
“Exactly.” He points to me, or more accurately, to my stomach, with a knife that he’s begun finely chopping a medley of vegetables with.
“You said you’d been searching for me since early this morning.
” He takes a pot from a shelf and fills it with water, then places it on a two-burner stove and turns a dial.
“You have to be hungry, so I’m going to feed you. ”
I don’t know what to say to that. No one has ever graciously volunteered to look after my needs before. I stay quiet, watching the infamous thief potter around his small kitchen, making me food.
“I think it’s ready.” He takes a fork, wraps some pasta around it, and puts it to my mouth. “Tell me what you think.”
Unused to the intimacy of someone feeding me, I self-consciously open my mouth and accept the bite of food. Unfamiliar exotic flavors burst on my tongue .“Holy Gods. That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He looks pleased at my reaction. “It’s vegetable piccata. A fairly common dish in this realm. You never had it before?”
I shake my head no. “The best adjectives I can use to describe the food the Order serves its members are gray and mushy.”
He dramatically shudders at my description, and then plates up two portions, pours two glasses of a clear bubbly drink that I think might be champagne, and dexterously carries all of it to one of the windows.
With a nudge of his foot, he slides it open to reveal a narrow, sunken terrace.
There’s just enough room for an old, overstuffed sofa, which he motions for me to sit on, hands me my plate, and then sprawls down next to me with no thought of personal space.
At first, I’m stiff with unease. Sitting here next to this very charismatic man in the dark, the only lighting is from the moon that bathes his good looks in the most flattering way.
I’m not used to any of this. Intimate dinners for two or being near a man who puts all my senses into overdrive after they’ve lain dormant for so long.
Not knowing what else to do, I begin eating and let my hunger for the delicious food he cooked distract me from the other cravings he awakens in me.
Only once my fork scrapes the empty plate do I glance over at Morrigan again.
Instead of attacking his food in a gluttonous frenzy, he’s only half finished with his plate.
Wrapping the pasta around his fork gracefully, he brings it to his full lips, and after taking a bite, his eyes half close in enjoyment.
His tongue darts out to lick an errant drop of sauce from his lips, and then he gives a deep groan of appreciation.
Suddenly thirsty, I take a big gulp from my glass and am surprised at its dry but sweet effervescence. The drink’s bubbles tease my tongue, and I take another sip to experience the new sensation once again.
“Let me guess,” he says, watching my reaction with a small smile on his face. “You’ve never drunk champagne before?”
“Never,” I confirm. “Or any other alcohol.” I take another sip from my glass. “I think I like it.”
He studies me for a moment. “Why are you working so hard to be accepted back in the Order of Mergen so badly?” he asks with a low-voiced intensity.
“You’re willing to go to all the trouble and risk of stealing the Bryndonian Orb to get back into an Order that kicked you out for practicing magic that is part of your very nature as a mage.
” He motions to the dark horizon. “There’s a whole world of experiences and adventures out there for you.
Don’t lock yourself away with people who don’t appreciate you. ”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I tell him. “Ravens are solitary shifters. They don’t need to be a part of a pack or feel lonely.”
“You read the wrong book on that one, Ari,” he teases. “Some raven shifters remain solitary or form small packs with their own kind, but depending on their nature, ravens will also search out a pack to belong to.”
“You belong to a pack?” I ask, fascinated by this new information.
“In my own way,” he says. “I was on my own when I was little more than a fledgling and learned to thieve to survive. The Durrand pack caught me stealing from them and took me in, knowing exactly who and what I am, and accepted me as one of their own.”
“The Durrand pack,” I repeat, stunned. He is not only a raven shifter who belongs to a wolf pack, but he’s part of the most notorious shifter pack in several realms.