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“I didn’t seem to awaken or become aware until I felt your presence, which would have been after your magical bond to War broke, but I also had the sense that I’d been trapped in a dream state for a long time, and I wanted out.”

Layala thought back to his voice finding her before she knew him.Come to me. I need you,he’d said.

He poured milk in, then sugar, and with a wooden spoon began to mix it all. More spilled over the sides. Apparently he was rusty. She smiled, and he looked up at her through thick dark lashes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No,” she said and then burst out in laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, but he looked so out of place with flour all over his shirt, mixing a bowl of ingredients to make scones. He was the Black Mage, the god of mischief, a killer, and a novice baker.

He dunked his hand in the sack of flour and tossed a handful. It splattered across her chin, over her neck, and down her chest. She gasped and dropped her blanket. “Hel!”

He smirked. “If you’re so good at it then help me.”

She set the blanket down and stomped over to his side, bumped her hip into his and took over. Once it was all mixed, she pushed the bowl back in front of him. “Your turn.” As he took the dough into his hands to knead it, she tossed flour at him. It scattered over his hair making the black a dusty gray and over the left side of his cheek.

“Are you serious?” he drawled.

She grabbed another handful and tossed it then dashed around the other side of the wood block and backed toward the archway leading out of the room. He was covered in splatters of flour, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He tugged his shirt overhead and shook it out creating a white cloud. Then he tossed it aside, leaving him standing bare up top, and Maker, he looked good bare.

“Once I get these in the oven, you’re in trouble.”

She kept backing up, smile getting wider. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that’s going to make you sweat your ass off during training.” He pulled apart the dough piece by piece along a metal tray and she took another step back anticipating more flour to be launched. “Don’t run or I might chase you.”

He was half smiling, and she wasn’t sure if he meant it or not. And the rebel inside wanted to test him. “If you want me to train, you’ll have to catch me first.” She took off running down the hall and threw open the front door. Giggling to herself, she sprinted for the fruit orchard. He appeared in front of her so suddenly she ran smack right into his chest. His warm hands wrapped around her arms, and he moved forward, pushing her back.

She searched his eyes, heart pounding. There was something about the danger that made him infinitely more attractive in this moment. “You were supposed to chase me, not use magic.”

“Says who? You didn’t lay out any rules.” His eyes fell to her lips.

“I know your secret,” Layala blurted out.

His brows raised. “I’m full of them, but now I’m curious.”

“You pretend to hate everyone, to be evil and wicked, but that’s not the whole truth.”

Her back hit the outside wall. The wild look in his eyes was like a cat before it pounced. “You know what I hate? I crave you in every conceivable way and I hate it. I hate the way you poison my thoughts, the way you infect every part of my being. I hate the way you laugh at things that aren’t even funny, even more that you’ve become so vulnerable. It makes me want to protect you, to worry over you and to never stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, morning sun or darkest night you’re there. I hate when you nibble your lip when you’re thinking. I despise every dangerous curve along your body, but most especially this curve,” his thumb dragged along her lips. “I wish you would hate me more than you do. I wish you loathed me as much as the day I came into the castle throne room because… I don’t want to want you. I don’t want to trust you again or have anything to do with you. When this is over, and the council is no more, I know you’ll leave me and go back to War, either here or in Palenor, and I’ll never want to see either of you again because it hurts.” He shoved off the wall and headed back toward the manor. “The scones are going to burn.”

Layala let out the breath she held and sank down the wall, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees.Shit.

* * *

The scones were delicious.Prize winning, in fact, with a spread of butter and a bit of honey. They rivaled even gnome baking, and she wondered if he’d stolen their recipe or maybe they’d taken his. After she ate three, she found Hel outside tearing off long creeping weeds with his hands from the side of the manor. With the force he threw them and the sweat glistening on his muscular back and chest, she didn’t approach. She peered from around the corner and then stepped back nibbling her lower lip. Maybe it was best she stayed away for a while. He was clearly upset. She knew with his magic he could tear those vines without much effort, but he chose the physical labor.

But then that left him to do all the work. She stepped around the corner, and without a word, joined him in tugging down weeds. He paused for only a moment then continued on. At least a half hour passed before she said, “The scones were delicious.”

“I’m glad you like them.” He didn’t pause his work.

“Thank you for going through the trouble to get the ingredients to make them. You didn’t have to.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Since the demon is here, shouldn’t we find an obsidian weapon?”

“You could get your goddess blade, Zythara—which in the primordial language means—”