48. Olivia #2
Malic pulls me closer to his side, melting me into him.
“See? It’s a spread for you,” he murmurs, looking at the mountains of pancakes already on plates at the kitchen island.
My body tingles and heat works through me as his gaze swings to mine.
Lust bubbles there. A need he can’t deny as he longingly stares into my eyes.
“Oh, how I’ll never get the memories of our time out of my head,” he chuckles while tapping the side of his skull.
“This kitchen island will always be my favorite place to eat my meals, including you.” He winks, making my cheeks heat more.
“And we can always make it happen again.”
Okay, so time to pull away and get to the real reason I came down from the bedroom.
It’s not only the headache pounding inside my skull that these pancakes could 100 percent fix, but I need my things.
I need to convince Malic to give them up and let me leave.
Something he seems hell-bent on not letting me do.
“It looks delicious,” I softly say, eyeing the food.
“Indeed it does,” Malic purrs.
When I catch his gaze again, he’s not staring at the food.
He’s staring at me. Deep into me. Like he wants to flay me open and know all my secrets.
Well, not today, Psycho. Today, I’m eating pancakes, getting my shit, and then I’m out of here.
In that order, too. Now, time to put my amazingly simple plan into action.
“So, have you seen my phone? My clothes? Did I leave them down here?” I ask softly, sitting on a stool and watching the two of them with hawk eyes.
People don’t realize they give themselves away one look at a time.
A tiny twitch could tell me you’re lying about everything.
And the way Malic eyes me stoically, not letting any sort of emotion come through, tells me that I might have walked into a trap of my own making.
What kind of trap? Well, I don’t exactly want to find out.
Maybe I should run while I have the chance.
At least, that’s what my brain is telling me.
Run, run, as fast as you can, Olivia. Far, far away from here.
Wilder frowns, peeking at me over his shoulder with confusion.
“Malic,” he accuses slightly, setting the spatula down.
“Did you do something to her clothes? You know, we’ve talked about taking people’s things.
” He shakes his head like a disappointed father.
“Even if you want her to stay, you can’t keep her. She has a life. She is not a pet.”
By the look Malic gives him, I don’t think he agrees with Wilder’s sentiment. That does not fare well for me. Not at all.
“Oh, those old things? You don’t need those, Little Ghost,” he quips, waving a hand.
“Malic,” Wilder grunts. “You can’t take her phone and clothes. You have to give them back.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Malic teases, earning a harder glare.
“Mark this as the last time you ever eat pancakes,” Wilder grumbles, turning back to the pan and flipping the pancake.
“But Dadddddd,” Malic playfully whines. “You love making me breakfast.” He bats his eyelashes.
Wilder scoffs, takes the pan off the burner, and sets one last pancake on another pile. “In your fucking dreams. And stop calling me fucking Dad. It’s weird.”
“So, my things?” I ask again, ignoring their banter.
“Have no fear, Crumpet. They’re in a very special place. Here, have some of these.” He sets a plateful of fluffy pancakes in front of me, grinning with pride. “With some butter and syrup.”
My eyes widen as the pancakes drown beneath both.
“That’s enough,” I choke out, putting a hand up to stop him from ruining the pancakes.
“That’ll be more syrup than pancakes,” I say, grabbing the fork Wilder hands me as he glares at Malic.
Wilder slightly blushes when our fingers touch, and he quickly pulls back.
“Thanks. To both of you,” I reluctantly say, cutting into my pancakes and humming when the taste hits my mouth.
“So why are my things in a very special place? I’d appreciate them now.
” My patience is running thin, but I have to pretend on the outside that this doesn’t bother me.
Even when I want to tie Malic to a chair and torture the information from him. That would be too damn obvious.
“Very welcome, Crumpet. Eat as much as you want and stay for as long as you need. In fact, we could create a sticky situation for ourselves.” His eyebrows wiggle as he holds up the syrup container and gestures to it inappropriately.
Great. Now, he’s avoiding the damn question completely. He’s like a toddler who refuses to acknowledge he’s done something wrong. I wonder if I sent him to the corner, if he’d go and stand there until I said it was okay.
Malic and Wilder grab plates of their own and eat at the island in silence.
“Umm, I really do have to get going,” I say, pushing my empty plate away with a frown. “Could I have my phone and clothes now?” This is starting to feel like a hostage situation in the making. Him holding my very important phone and my clothes.
“Where are you going back to, Little Ghost?” Malic asks, setting his elbows on the counter and watching me closely. “Where’s home for you? Close?”
Too fucking close is what I want to mutter.
“Mal, stop acting like a weirdo,” Wilder huffs, shoving a bite of pancakes into his mouth.
“Give the girl back her shit. She obviously only wanted a night. We’ve talked about this before.
Boundaries. They’re important. Even if you like to bulldoze right through them.
” He gives Malic a pointed look, but it does nothing but make Malic smile more.
“You can’t force her to stay here. Again. She’s not a damn pet you can lock up.”
Yeah, Psycho. Listen to your bestie. I have to go now before anything crazy can happen.
“But I have some questions,” Malic pouts with a huff, giving me his best puppy-dog eyes.
“Of course you do,” Wilder huffs, cutting more pancakes and shoving them into his mouth. “Ask them quickly and give her her shit back before she stabs you with a fork.”
Well, that’s not a bad idea.
“Thanks, Dad!” Malic coos, dodging Wilder’s punch.
“What kind of questions?” I ask cautiously.
Maybe stabbing Malic with my fork would be a good solution. I'm not ruling it out. Because there's a sinking feeling sitting heavy like lead in my stomach. A foreboding that something bad is about to happen or be asked. Something I can't weasel my way out of.
"What's Veritas?" Malic asks, tilting his head and never taking his gaze off me.