The Sleeper's Harp (The Arcane Artifacts, #1)

Chapter 23 - Apology Breakfast

Bastian pulled himself out of bed and spent a few minutes charging up his metals, dumping as much as he could into them, before going about his morning routine. It was a little past 6:00am and the sun was just creeping up, but he hadn't slept well, and didn't want to linger.

No, that wasn't it. His mind was too tumultuous. He felt like a right asshole after last night. A selfish asshole, but he'd warned Eleanor, that's exactly what he was.

The house was silent as he went downstairs, pausing in the hallway outside her door. As if the proximity was to blame, memories of her scent and taste wrapped around him. Memories of the sounds she'd made when she came on his tongue. His dick twitched, hardening in an instant. He cursed under his breath and adjusted his lounge pants, forcing his mind to behave.

Entering the kitchen, he set about pulling things from the fridge and cupboards. He stared at the ingredients, trying to decide what to cook, eyes zoning out. She'd been upset last night, angry that he'd made things one-sided. It wasn't a lie, what he'd said, that if he slept with her, there'd be no going back. Had he been wrong to say it? Should he have simply given in?

No, his mistake had been taking things that far in the first place. He hadn't been able to restrain himself. The moment he revealed his goblin side, the moment he'd seen her eyes, warm with appreciation and longing, gazing back at him, a measure of his self-control snapped. He hadn't been able to keep his hands off her, at least, until some of the realization sank in. After she was coming on his tongue, his mind seemed to catch up to what was happening.

So, he'd done the only thing he could, stopped things before they got any further.

Unlike the majority of women in his past, for which casual had always been an effortless thing, there was nothing casually effortless about Eleanor. She demanded his attention, pulled at a primal part of his brain that filled him with need, a desire to protect, claim, even own. In mere days of knowing her, she brought out the worst of his goblin side and the best of his fae side. Bad luck that the one species he hadn't fucked around with in centuries was the one that threatened to upheave his way of life.

Waffles, he'd make waffles.

He pulled out the waffle iron and got to work. They'd eaten all the bacon. Breakfast sausage would be good. He glanced in the fridge, contemplating. His mind went back to Eleanor, to what she'd said about conjuring missing ingredients with his abilities. A package of breakfast sausage appeared, wrapped in plastic wrap. He siphoned ten bucks—likely more than what it had cost—and put it in the cash register at his local grocery, which probably wasn't even open yet. He glanced at the clock, approaching 7:00am.

His phone beeped, an incoming text. He frowned when he read it, sent an answering reply, then got to work.

He would've made Eleanor breakfast regardless, but his guilt drove him to make it extra special. He'd felt that way the other morning, too. How many more guilty breakfasts would he feel obligated to cook? Not that he didn't enjoy it. He loved cooking. Loved even more seeing her obvious pleasure at eating the food he created. So, fuck it. If he had to make her apology pancakes, or apology waffles for the duration of her stay, so be it.

Shuffling around in the cabinets, he picked out his favorite dark chocolate coffee, the one she'd had the first morning. It would pair perfectly with the flavors of their breakfast. He got it going.

He was pulling the first waffle out of the iron when the sound of a bedroom door opened, footsteps padding down the hallway. His senses came alert. Her smell hit him first, soft and floral, with hints of the vanilla moisturizer she used, and something else he hadn't been able to place. A lingering undertone of...coffee, perhaps? He fucking loved coffee. But that wasn't quite right. It was similar, but he'd not been able to place it yet. Whatever it was, drove him wild; it was probably the reason he felt more attracted to her than he'd expected.