Chapter 16
Ezra watched as Geri tumbled into the room.
"Are you baking?"
Shaking his head, Ezra gestured at the toast in the skillet. How could they all know he was by the stove?
"Oh, breakfast." Geri hurried over to the kitchen table and sat next to Ulric. "I want some."
Rourke walked through the door and sighed loudly. "You don't have to cook for anyone, Ezra."
But he did. Or, he didn't have to cook for anyone, but he had to cook or bake or he'd go insane. And it made him feel better if people ate what he'd made, otherwise it would be a waste of food.
"We'll need more bread, cheese, and ham." There wasn't enough for four.
Rourke glared at Ulric and Geri, put the coffee down, and headed out the door again. Ezra hid his smile by focusing on the skillet where he placed one slice of bread, cheese, and ham, and then another slice of bread on top. He fitted another next to the first and rolled his shoulders.
Magic was a gentle caress against his soul. He flipped the sandwiches when they were golden brown. The scent filled the room, and he prepared the next batch.
A minute or two later, he grabbed a plate from the cupboard, put a toast on it, and gave it to Ulric. He repeated the action and handed the next plate to Geri.
He melted more butter, added more bread, and disappeared into his head.
Everything was perfect. When the toasts were done, he gave a plate to Rourke who was watching him without a word.
When had he returned? Ezra must've zoned out.
There were more supplies now, so Rourke must've placed them there while he'd been focused on cooking.
He noticed Ulric had finished his toast, so he gave him the other one.
He added more butter to the skillet, added more bread, and handed the next toast to Geri. Then Farkas stumbled in through the door, looking like he hadn't slept since Ezra fed him last.
Concern welled in Ezra's chest, and he grabbed a new plate and more or less shoved it at Farkas.
"Hey. What's going on?" He blinked as if his eyes were filled with sand and accepted the plate.
"Eat."
Farkas looked between the toast and Ezra. Then he grabbed the toast and took a bite before dropping it and shaking his fingers as if he'd burned himself. It had to have been hot. It came directly from the skillet.
Ezra fixed more toasts, handed out more toasts, and then stared when the bread was finished. He grew aware the others were talking but he had tuned them out.
When he turned around, Rourke was watching him. "You didn't eat, did you?"
"I forgot."
Before Rourke could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, then a woman with long dark hair and startling blue eyes stepped in. "Why are you all here? The office is empty and has been empty all morning."
Ezra flinched at the annoyed tone. It was his fault. Fear filled his gut. If he hadn't run away, they wouldn't have been out half the night, and wouldn't have slept late this morning. And if he hadn't made breakfast, they wouldn't be sitting here.
"We're taking the day off. Ezra and I are heading into town."
Ezra held his breath and waited for the woman to attack, but she only shrugged. "Have you all eaten in here?" She looked around. "Why is Farkas sleeping on your couch?"
Everyone turned toward the couch where Farkas was sleeping. Ezra winced. It was his fault. "He needs to rest."
"Was there something you wanted, Tala?" Rourke spoke before anyone else could.
"Nah. It smells good in the corridor, and it's rude not to share." She wiggled a finger at Ezra.
"I'm out of bread, sorry."
She shrugged. "I'm grabbing brunch in the dining hall." Then she walked away.
* * * *
Rourke looked at Farkas, unsure of what to do. Ulric and Geri had left, and he and Ezra were leaving too.
"Do I leave him?" He glanced at Ezra who'd put on clean clothes and had redone his braids three times, which made Rourke believe he was nervous about something.
"He needs to rest."
Rourke hummed. "Maybe feed him in the evening instead of in the morning."
Ezra nodded.
"Okay, let's go." Rourke headed toward the door, leaving Farkas on the couch. Ezra hurried after him, nervously fidgeting with his bracelets.
"I...eh...have no money."
None at all? If his only job had been to cook for the clan, he guessed it made sense. Maybe. Which also had to mean everything he owned had been given to him. He glanced at Ezra as they exited the pack house and headed toward the garage.
"How do you buy clothes if you don't have any money?"
"Oh...eh...Jiprix sometimes gives me something."
Jiprix. He still hadn't told Ezra about him coming here and part of him was reluctant to, but he didn't know why. He opened the door to the driver's seat of the rusty red Ford and stared as Ezra grabbed the door handle to the backseat.
"Where are you going?"
"Eh..." He gestured at the back seat.
"Walk around the car and sit in the passenger seat like a normal person."
With a clipped nod, Ezra hurried around the back. Rourke took a deep breath and got into his seat. Once they had their belts on, he turned the key and backed out.
"Jiprix came by yesterday."
"What?"
"It was when you were gone, so I told him you weren't available."
Ezra nodded. "What did he want?"
"Cookies."
Wide eyes stared at him. "What?"
"A couple of kids were sick, and he wanted cookies for them. Are you a healer?"
A healer made more sense than a...food witch, or whatever they should call him.
"No, not a healer." He shook his head. "If I feed you, I can give you things your body needs to heal, but I can't make it heal."
Rourke was quiet for a minute or two as he tried to make sense of everything. "How can it be considered a bad thing?"
Ezra tore his gaze from the surroundings, and Rourke realized he most likely hadn't been in a car many times. "What's a bad thing?"
"Your skill. If cookies made by you make people sleep when they need it, heal when they need it, and so on, how can it be considered anything but an asset?"
Ezra frowned. "I don't make anyone do anything. I bake."
Frustration built in Rourke. "I know, but the result of your baking helps people. Helps them enough for Jiprix to risk coming onto pack land to beg for cookies."
Ezra looked out the window, his fingers fiddling with the braids.
"I don't understand it, Ezra. How is it a less valued skill than turning someone into a tree and setting them on fire." His voice turned a little growly.
"Izibine is an asset. She can fight monsters and protect the borders."
Izibine. He'd mentioned her before. Rourke tried to memorize the name. Izibine deserved to fucking die for what she'd done to Hilde. It had been hard on the pack.
"And you're not?" He didn't understand witches. Ezra was an asset. If his magic did what he claimed it did and didn't harm in any way, then he was of huge help. He'd keep the pack healthy if Rourke allowed him to cook and bake.
"No. Witches wield power, destroy their enemies, and fight for their place in the clan. They don't bake."
Ezra spat the last bit, and Rourke grinned. He hadn't seen him angry before.
"Ah, but darling, clearly they do."
"Look at me." Ezra gestured at himself. "I don't look like a witch."
"You look great."
Ezra's eyes widened, and Rourke chuckled.
"You do. I love that you aren't covered in piercings and tattoos. I mean if you were--your body, your choice--but I'm glad you're not."
"It's a sign I'm weak."
Rourke growled, though not with any real heat. "You're not weak."
"I'm weak. I couldn't curse you if my life depended on it. I can't fight you, I can't challenge you, I can't win against you."
Ezra's voice rose with each word, and Rourke reached over and covered the hands he was wringing on his lap with his.
"Shh. I will fight for you, I will win for you, and you won't ever have to fight against me because I'm your mate.
" He caressed him with his thumb. "Strength isn't about being able to cause harm, and everyone has a role to play.
They're poorer without you, and I think Jiprix has realized it.
The question is what will happen when the others do too.
" A chill shot through him at his own words.
He hadn't contemplated it. He had only wanted to comfort Ezra, but what would happen when they realized his worth?
He needed Ezra by his side all day, every day.
"You're mine now. I'm not giving you back." His hold on Ezra's hands tightened then he remembered all the cuts and let up a little.
"They don't want me back."
But cold fear slithered through Rourke. Would they consider getting Ezra back worth restarting the war for? Because Rourke would fight. He was not giving him up.
* * * *