18. Zoey

Zoey

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I fell asleep. But awareness creeps back slowly, and the first thing I register is warmth—a solid presence beneath my arm that’s definitely not my pillow barrier.

My eyes flutter open, and my heart stops.

My arm is draped across Aerix’s chest, the pillow fort demolished between us. His shirt has ridden up. And, to make it worse, my fingers are grazing the bare skin of his stomach.

My stupid, traitorous body must have shifted in the night.

I risk a glance at his face, praying he’s still asleep.

Instead, I find him very much awake, those midnight eyes glinting with barely concealed amusement.

He quirks a brow, smiling smugly. “Comfortable?”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I yank my arm back so quickly that I nearly tumble off the bed.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I sit up, trying to ignore my racing heart. “I must have been... sleepwalking.”

“Fascinating.” His smile widens. “I wasn’t aware humans possessed the ability to walk while horizontal. Tell me—is that a new evolutionary development?”

“Maybe I’m just an overachiever,” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Clearly.” He stretches lazily, like a cat basking in the sun, and props himself up on one elbow. “Though next time, maybe keep your achievements on your side of the bed. Or don’t. I certainly didn’t mind.”

I grit my teeth and push down the flush creeping up my neck. “Trust me, I will. And if you touch me, I’ll?—”

“Stab me?” he interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “I think we’ve established how that misguided attempt would end.”

My glare could probably shoot a laser beam through his forehead. “Don’t tempt me.”

Aerix chuckles again, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

But before I can come up with a retort, my stomach betrays me, letting out a loud, grumbling protest.

He rises in one fluid motion, moving to the cabinets near the small kitchen area. There, he begins pulling out various items—dried herbs, preserved vegetables, something that might have once been bread, and a few others.

“Really?” I eye the sad collection of ingredients. “That’s what passes for breakfast in a five-star bunker?”

“My apologies.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “I’d order room service, but I imagine it would take a while.”

Shrugging off his comment, I move to inspect what he’s found, my mind cataloging possibilities of what I can do with it. The herbs are decent—thyme, rosemary, and garlic. The vegetables, while preserved, still have life in them. And that bread... well, it’s seen better days, but I worked with worse during the summer I volunteered at the soup kitchen at church.

“Move,” I say, nudging him aside to dig through the cabinets. “Do you have a way to start a fire?”

He pulls a flint and steel from a drawer, holding it up between two fingers. “I can manage that much. The question is whether you can do anything with this sorry lot.”

“Challenge accepted.”

While he sets to work building the fire, I keep my focus on assembling ingredients.

Once the fire is going, I set a dented iron skillet on the heat and add a splash of oil I found in a dusty bottle. Next, I chop the vegetables and toss them into the pan, and they hiss and pop, smelling somewhat decent.

“What exactly are you making?” Aerix leans against the counter, watching me as if I’m casting a spell.

“Improvising.” I slice the bread into thin cubes, rub it with the garlic herb mixture I’ve thrown together, and arrange it on a flat piece of stone to toast near the fire.

Within minutes, I’ve turned the meager ingredients into a rustic open-faced sandwich. Toasted bread topped with sautéed vegetables, shredded meat, and a drizzle of herb-infused oil that adds just enough flavor to make it feel intentional.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asks.

“I volunteered at a soup kitchen for a bit.” I shrug, adding the final touches. “We didn’t have much to work with, but I had a knack for improvising.”

“Very interesting,” he says, studying me in a way that makes me look away and refocus on arranging the food. “Shall we eat in bed?”

“Absolutely not.” I grab a plate and move to the table, putting as much space between us as possible. “I’ve already spent enough time in that bed with you.”

“Yet you seemed so comfortable there earlier...”

“One more word about that,” I warn, pointing my fork at him, “and I’ll show you exactly how creative I can get with those cooking knives.”

He doesn’t bother to respond. Instead, he settles into the chair opposite me, leaning back with infuriating ease and studying the plate I’ve set before him.

Finally, he picks up a fork and takes a bite, surprise flickering across his face. “I have to admit,” he says, “you’re more talented in the kitchen than most of the fae I know.”

I arch my brow, unable to resist a little teasing. “Maybe I added a little something extra into it.”

“Trying to poison me?” He smirks, clearly amused. “I hate to disappoint, but fae aren’t affected by human toxins.”

“You’re safe—for now,” I tell him. “Poisoning someone is way too much effort before breakfast. Plus, I’m going to need some help with the dishes.”

He laughs, which sends a strange thrill down my spine.

“I think you misunderstood me as someone who takes orders,” he says. “However, I’d say this meal is only the start of what you owe me for saving your life.”

“I owe you nothing.” I glare at him, snapped back to the reality of why I’m stuck in this place with him to begin with.

We eat in silence for a moment.

Finally, I break it with the question that’s been tugging at the edge of my mind since right before I fell asleep. “That person I remind you of,” I begin carefully. “Did she cook?”

“You heard that?” he asks.

“Yes. I heard it.”

“She didn’t cook,” he says after a few tense seconds, setting his fork down with deliberate precision. “At least, not well. And don’t speak of her in past tense. She’s alive.”

Just like that, his walls are back up.

I internally curse myself for bringing it up. Because apparently, he’s a minefield. One wrong step, and he completely shuts down.

Eventually, Nyx pads over and nudges my arm, her golden eyes fixed on my plate with obvious interest.

“Really?” I can’t help but smile. “The fierce jaguar wants table scraps?”

She makes a rumbling sound that’s almost a purr, butting her head against my shoulder.

“Here.” I tear off a piece of the herbed bread. “But don’t tell your master I’m spoiling you.”

She takes it delicately from my fingers, and my heart melts a little. She might be a massive, beautiful predator, but she’s still just a cat at heart.

Aerix watches the exchange with a raised brow. “She doesn’t usually take to strangers.”

“I volunteered at an animal shelter for a few weekends this past fall.” I scratch behind Nyx’s ears, and she leans into my touch. “Spent most of my time working with the cats.”

“Let me guess,” he says. “Your favorites were the difficult ones?”

“Always,” I admit, smiling slightly. “There was this one cat—Milo. Total terror. Hissed at everyone, wouldn’t let anyone near him. But I spent hours sitting outside his cage, talking to him, letting him come to me on his own terms.”

“And?” His voice is deceptively casual, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s waiting for something.

“Eventually, he let me pet him,” I say, meeting his gaze. “He’s mine now. I adopted him.”

I hope Milo’s doing okay without me. That my parents are treating him okay.

Well, more like that he’s treating them okay.

“You’re not the only one around here who likes a challenge.” Aerix leans forward, holding me down with those midnight eyes of his. “And I must admit—you’re far more capable than I thought you’d be, given how much you were struggling in that water. It’s intriguing, to say the least.”

I should be angry at him for assuming I could be anything less than capable, simply for not knowing how to swim.

Instead, the air between us charges again, like the moment before lightning strikes, and I forget how to breathe.

Then, thunder crashes overhead, making us both jump.

“We need to leave.” He stands abruptly, all business now. “The storms in this area can turn deadly. But if we move quickly, we can reach the court before the worst hits.”

“The court?” My stomach drops as I flash back to the terror that was the Winter Court. “A fae court?”

“The Night Court,” he says, and I swallow, not liking the sound of that. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and get trapped by the storm? Even after having used our final ingredients for our gourmet meal, and knowing the other ingredient I need to consume to remain satiated?”

He glances at my neck, and another crack of thunder emphasizes his point.

“Fine.” I push away from the table, hating that he’s probably right. “But don’t think this means I’m going quietly.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His smirk returns. “Nor would I want it, given that you’ve proven far too entertaining when you’re being difficult. Just like that cat of yours—begging to be tamed.”

“Begging to be tamed?” I scoff, hating him all over again. “You’d have better luck with that storm.”

“We’ll see,” he says, and the way his gaze lingers leaves me wondering if he means the storm outside—or the one brewing between us.