Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“No…” my head tilts to one side on a crooked smirk. “Is this you nesting again?”
His forehead wrinkles in obvious irritation over the term.
“I think it’s sweet you wanna take care of me.”
“We want to take care of you.” He lowers the stick to fidget with it. “Are driven to.”
“You and Platinum?”
Another nod is given.
“What are his opinions of me?”
“Ones that you don’t say on a first date because they belong in a sexual harassment seminar.”
Wanting to hide the blush I can feel blooming in my cheeks leads to me spinning a finger around to indicate I want him to resume the previous conversation. “Finish telling me about The Fog.”
“The Great Ones—higher powers—created The Fog as an attempt to allow the two versions of beings—those who can see all the things you’ve been seeing and those who can’t—to coincide as peacefully as they possibly can. Peaceful is a term I, personally, use loosely considering the ugliness I’ve seen each side capable of carrying out.”
Can’t say I’m surprised considering how much trouble humans have simply getting along with each other.
The human resources department was pretty much born to deal with that inability in an office setting.
“Your mother is an orc. 1000%. She’s a being from this side of The Fog, so she can and does see all this shit already, meaning your entire life you should’ve been able to see it as well because you share at least half of her genetics, yet you think you’re having some sort of psychotic break. You are completely clueless to practically everything that isn’t something Sleeper related, which should be—quite frankly—impossible.”
Defensiveness darts through my expression pushing my eyebrows down. “Perhaps I just didn’t get enough of her genes.”
He shakes his head with conviction. “Magical essence always trumps non-magical essence and the tiniest spec in your system is enough to tether you to this side and is something that I should be able to instantly sense.”
“Maybe she had to be around for me to like…keep seeing stuff since my dad’s human? Remember she completely fucking disappeared from my life when I was ten.”
“Again, you have at least half of her in you, so no. Her physical presence isn’t required.” Anxiousness continues to build, but thankfully, Ptur decides to redirect it. “Why don’t we put a paperclip in the heavy shit for now and get you properly fed, Pint-Size?”
This time hearing the nickname causes one corner of my mouth to kick upward.
“You’re starting to like the nickname.”
“Perhaps I’m just starting to like you.”
“Um,” the redness that suddenly coats his cheeks can’t be hidden, “do you like kabobs?”
“Depends on the contents.”
“We’ve got plenty to choose from,” Ptur informs on a point to the first dish. “Meat wise we have steak, lamb, and knom.”
“Knom?” I pull the other wicker basket over to me. “What the hell is knom?”
“It’s an exotic hairless, six-legged animal, who mainly resides in areas near the equator.”
“Intriguing…I think the most exotic meat I’ve had to date is kangaroo.”
“Eh, that’s usually a little too gamey for my taste.”
“What’s knom taste like?”
“You know the fatty part of a steak that when you burn it or charr it, it simply melts in your mouth like there’s no place it’d rather be?”
Never having heard someone else describe their love of meat like me has me thoughtlessly scooting closer. “Yes.”
“Knom is like that.” His beam brightens. “Interested?”
“I don’t think my tastebuds would ever forgive me if I even thought about saying no.”
Ptur chuckles and reaches for a piece of the surprisingly yellow meat. “My recommendation is to pair them with the baby potatoes. The juices from the meat seep into and on top of them almost like butter.”
“God yes,” I practically pant.
An unpredicted animal-like growl escapes as he grumbles, “Can’t believe I’m fucking jealous of food right now.”
“Because I’m moaning for it and not you yet?”
Another growl is given on an intrigued gaze. “Yet?”
Burning hits my cheeks over the realization of what I accidentally said.
Meant.
Shut up. You were so not invited to this conversation.
“Um,” my attention drops to the container, “which one of these is Odin’s Nose?”
“Odin’s Eye, Pint-Size,” Ptur replies while resuming his food mission. “And it’s the one that looks like a large wooden beer mug.”
I pull it along with two glasses out of the basket. “How much should I pour?”
“You want another recommendation from me?” The light teasing is thrown out between the stacking of the pieces. “Is that…trust I’m sensing?”
“No, it’s just me eating and drinking responsibly.” Light laughter reverberates throughout the room at the same time I place the drinkware down. “How often do you cook for dates?”
“I don’t.”
Struggling to pop the lid of the booze openly begins next. “Why not?”
“I don’t really date anymore.”
The comment shifts my stare back to him while my fingers grind against what looks like a basic twist top.
“No time.” He finishes prepping the last of the stick. “Or interest really.”