Chapter 13
Devlin
The kitchen door swings shut behind me and it only takes me a second to find the chef right where I left him in the corner.
Crouching down to his level, I open up the note and read, “Run, your date’s a psycho.
” I cluck my tongue, shaking my head in disappointment.
“That’s not very nice, Henry.” I turn to one of the stove burners, holding his gaze as the slip of paper goes up in smoke.
“But lucky for you, I’m on my best behavior tonight. ”
Henry grunts behind his gag and squirms, but it’s pointless.
I tied those restraints myself on my trip to the ‘bathroom’ earlier.
I’d planned to let him have free reign of the kitchen all night, but after I found him trying to saw off the ankle shackle I generously bolted to the center of the floor so he could move around easier to cook for us, he lost the privilege.
People these days. So ungrateful.
“Hey, do you have any more of those rolls and cinnamon honey butter? Those things are fucking delicious.” I tug the gag out of his mouth.
“Th-the warming station.” A rough swallow. “Over there.” He jerks his chin in the direction. “Butter’s in the fridge, bottom shelf.”
“Quality service, ten outta ten. You run a nice place here, Henry, I’ll be sure to tell all my friends.” Not that I have any, but that’s neither here nor there. Replacing his gag, I grab a basket, gathering a mountain of rolls and balancing several little plastic containers of butter on the edges.
“For my first date, I’d say it’s going swimmingly, don’t you?
Think she’s ready to move in with me?” He offers a muffled response as I sift through the wine options, but it quickly becomes apparent that I don’t know shit about wine.
Plucking an expensive-looking bottle at random, I tuck it under my arm.
“Oh shit, you’re right! Women need a sign of commitment before they take the leap. ”
Carefully balancing my haul, I crouch down and slide the silver band off Henry’s ring finger. “Wish me luck! If all goes well, we’ll see you for our anniversary next year.”
His eyes flare wide, obviously honored to be such an important part of my engagement story.
Returning to the table, I find Kiara right where I left her, my chest warming as she smiles up at me. Smiles. At me.
Nobody has ever been happy to see me before her, and I vow here and now that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her happy.
Over the next hour I discreetly type notes on my phone single-handedly under the table, because I know how forgetful and easily distracted I can get.
I’m determined to do right by her, to prove that I’m a better mate than the moron that let her go, but I don’t know shit about women.
I’m good at killing people, not keeping them alive.
Thank god for Google.
I roll the ring between my fingers, debating the best way to propose when my phone spazzes the fuck out.
Mentally cursing up a storm, I check it with an annoyed scowl, but already know what I’m going to find.
It’s the early warning system I have in place for when the perpetual thorn in my side is closing in.
Usually, I get a huge kick out of fucking with the wraith that’s been trying to kill me for the last decade, but I’m going to have to end our little game soon.
I’m a mated man now. So as fun as this has been, it’s time to finally declare a winner.
“Put your coat on, I’ll take you home.”
Kiara frowns, but follows my lead. She’s quiet the whole ride home, but it gives me time to mull over the best way to catch a wraith.
I’ve spent years toying with the man, like a twisted game of cat and mouse.
One where I murdered his targets before he could, to prove that the almighty guild master of the Shadow Knight Assassins isn’t the fearsome dark god the rumors make him out to be.
Killing him, though? That’ll be a fun, new challenge.
When we pull up outside her house, my mate gets out before I can get her door, but I catch up to her a few steps later, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of my arm as I scowl at her sidewalk and murmur to myself, “Gotta handle this first before I get lost down that rabbit hole.” I quickly set two reminders on my phone.
One to go pick up salt as soon as I leave so I won’t have to break into a store in the middle of the night, and another for five-thirty a.m. to come salt her path to work.
She gives me a strange look I can’t interpret. “Are you setting reminders on your phone? Over salting my sidewalk?”
I blink at her, sifting through my distracted thoughts. “Well, yeah. If I don’t, I might forget once I get caught up working, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Her fingers flex on my arm, squeezing gently. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Just wait until I tell you you’re marrying me.
Far too soon, she lets go of me to grab her keys. “Well… I guess this is goodnight. I had fun, we should do it again soon. You know, if you want to.” Her cheeks warm slightly as she suddenly focuses on finding the right key to unlock her door.
A brief stab of panic has me scrambling. The article I read was very clear on this part. It was the determining factor on if the date was a success or failure.
Maybe she hasn’t been on any dates either and doesn’t know.
Before she steps inside, I blurt, “I’m pretty sure it’s customary to end a date with a goodnight kiss after you’ve been delivered unmaimed to your doorstep at the end.”
She pauses midstep before turning back to me, lips rolled in and looking like she’s fighting back laughter. “Oh, is it now?”
For a brief moment, I start to second guess myself, but swiftly squash down those useless doubts.
They’re tiny saboteurs, out to wreck my first date, and I refuse to let them win.
My plan was solid, practically cheat-coded for success.
No, this is yet another failing of her useless mate not treating her right.
“Yes. Good dates end with a kiss, bad ones end with doors slamming, a drink in the face, or fighting. Here, I’ll show you.
” I pull out my phone and start bringing up the article I bookmarked, but jerk my gaze up when her chilly fingers slide across my jaw.
Rising on her tiptoes, she gives me a ghost of a kiss, the barest featherlight touch of her lips against mine.
Just enough pressure to give me a taste and have me chasing after her as she pulls away, eyes sparkling with mirth.
“And what if I invited you in just to lock you in my basement and keep you forever? Does that constitute a good or bad date?”
My breathing turns ragged. If I wasn’t obsessed with this woman before, there’s no way I’d let her go now. She’s perfect.
My phone releases another wave of vibrations in warning, and reluctantly, I pull away. “Lock your doors, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure of yourself, there. What if I don’t want a second date?”
I rake my heated gaze over her slowly, elated. “Want to skip right to the happily ever after? Smart. I’ll send you a copy of the paperwork.”
She chuckles as I walk away, and for a split second, I wonder if she was joking before I shake it off. Doesn’t matter. My girl had a brilliant idea and I’m going to roll with it.
She’ll have to agree to move in with me if we’re married.