Kaitlyn
Istudy Linton’s face. His red eyes are deadly serious.
“Linton…” I’m not sure what to say or how to say it. “I like you, but I don’t know what this is between us.”
To my utter surprise, his face breaks into a wide smile.
“Neither do I?” His brows knit back together suddenly. “But I like it, and maybe can I still feed?” he asks, those eyebrows rising up into a hopeful pose.
Perhaps I’m overthinking this.
Perhaps I’ve been overthinking a lot of things. Linton is incredibly handsome, incredibly weird, carries enough weaponry to supply a small army, and sheds his scales when he walks and occasionally when he doesn’t.
He’s also kept me safe, even when it’s resulted in problems for him, and he’s given me the first and only orgasm of my life from eating me out.
Yes, it’s complicated, but at the same time, it really isn’t. Linton isn’t complicated at all. He does what he wants when he wants and only cares it works out if it impacts on me.
Prior to me, I’m not convinced he cared if what he did worked out or not.
“Yes.” I pat him on the arm. “You can still feed.”
I think Linton drools a little out of the lefthand side of his mouth.
“And we can work things out with the sleeping arrangements.”
“I don’t sleep.”
“I think you do.”
He makes a whooshing sound. “I don’t.”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.” I laugh.
“I’ll already know,” he says confidently.
An image of Linton this morning pops into my head, all floppy antennae and a smile which seemed to come from deep within.
A heavy knock has him bounding to the door, claws and fangs out.
“Housekeeper!” a deep voice booms. “You have assignments.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, here we go.” I gently shoulder a bristling Linton to one side and open the door.
If I was expecting another skeleton, I could not be more wrong.
A statuesque woman is standing outside. She wears what can only be described as a suit straight out of the Eighties, and she really doesn’t need the shoulder pads, given she’s close to six feet tall and has impressive shoulders to start off with.
She holds a scroll in front of her and is looking down at it.
“For the female, kitchens. For the male, gardens,” she pronounces.
“I do not do gardens,” Linton says, leaning against the doorframe, looking her up and down.
It’s my turn to bristle at his inspection of the Housekeeper.
“For the male, gardens,” the woman repeats, finally raising her eyes to him where he gets a steely inspection right back, and my hackles are raised further.
“No,” Linton says. “I will guard and I will watch. It’s what I do.”
“We have no need of that here,” she says. “Gardens.”
“You could have the kitchens, and I’ll do the gardens,” I suggest, attempting to keep my mirth to myself.
The Housekeeper turns her gaze on me. “You do not want your assignment?”
“I’m happy with whatever you want me to do,” I reply. “Perhaps Linton can come to the kitchens with me instead?”
“He will not operate well in the kitchens,” she says. “Because he does not eat…food.” She lifts her lip in disgust.
“I’ll have you know…” I respond, hands on hips, “Linton used to assist me in the bakery where I worked. So, he can operate in the kitchens, and I think it’s wrong of you to judge him based on what he has to do for sustenance.” I glare at her.
She pulls a long quill out of the end of the scroll and glares back.
“Female and male are assigned to the kitchens,” she says.
“Good.” I fold my arms. “Now show us where the kitchens are.”
Linton is utterly terrible in the kitchens, first saying they were too hot, then, once I’d sent him to the scullery, claiming they were too cold and made his wings ache.
The kitchens in the stronghold are vast, even bigger than those in Lord Guyzance’s castle.
However, despite the earlier scent of baking and cooking I caught when we first entered, suggesting a bigger operation, they have what would be called a skeleton crew.
Although not actual skeletons, given the monks are skeletons, and presumably skeletons don’t eat much.
Here there is a motley collection of witches and warlocks, who, from their general demeanour are using the stronghold as a place of sanctuary too. None of them are keen on meeting my eye, and they all scurry away from Linton when he walks through the large kitchens, following me around.
Linton seems entirely oblivious to any of them. I end up settling him in a corner far from the fire with some knives and forks to polish, and it’s a task he attacks with some gusto.
“I used to work in a bakery and in kitchens,” I say to the witch who seems to be controlling everything. What would you like me to do?”
“What about your Bluecap?” she asks, shooting Linton a glance.
“Probably best left out of things,” I say.
“We all have to work for our sanctuary,” she says.
“And he will, but perhaps once I’ve a better idea of what we can both do to help.”
She narrows her eyes at me and then they dart to Linton.
“He is harmless, I promise.” I smile.
Linton throws one of the knives he’s supposed to be polishing at the end of the wooden dresser which holds various pots, pans, and large ceramic platters. It buries itself deep.
“Mostly harmless,” I clarify.