Page 10

Thorn presses her lips together, mirth glittering in her green eyes. “A wise choice.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Yes, well, clearly one cannot be skilled at all manner of tasks.”

As if to emphasize my point, Thorn turns back to the bubbling kettle hanging in the hearth and promptly knocks it askew. Steam and scorching water hiss over the burning logs.

“Seriously?” she exclaims, shaking her damp skirt.

I can’t help but chuckle. “See? We all have our clumsy moments, do we not? At least I refrained from sending boiling water across your humble cottage floor.”

Thorn shoots me a piercing look, spots of color blooming on her fair cheeks. “Myhumblehome is all that’s keeping you alive right now, and my clumsiness is your doing, vampire,“ she mutters.

I lift my hands in bafflement. “I fail to see how nearly upending your own kettle could possibly be my fault unless you intend to blame the confines of this cramped space?” I gesture broadly around us.

Thorn simply presses her lips tight and turns her back on me. “Just stay out of my way. I don’t want to scald myself further on your account.”

I stare after her, totally confused. Everything I do seems to annoy her more. Being crammed in this tiny cottage wasn’t my idea. Why is she so irritated with me?

5

Thorn

Icrack the eggs against the iron pan’s rim, letting the yolks and whites spill out to sizzle. The scents of butter and porridge waft through my little cottage, temporarily masking the lingering traces of Draven’s spicy, masculine scent that somehow permeates the small space.

As I stir the simple breakfast, I try to ignore his looming presence behind me. Why must he insist on hovering whenever I cook? It’s a small miracle I haven’t burned down this place with my magic acting up so badly.

I hear the clinking of jars being removed from my shelves. I don’t have to glance back to know Draven has taken it upon himself to again “help” with themeal preparation, likely grabbing ingredients at random with no concept of how to cook.

Sighing, I turn to find him scrutinizing a handful of mismatched spices and herbs.

“I’ve got this covered, thanks,” I say tersely, plucking the items from his grasp before he can upend them haphazardly into the porridge.

Honestly, parsley and nutmeg? What does he think I’m making? Soup dumplings? The man knows nothing about cooking.

I firmly guide Draven away from the kitchen area with an insistent hand on his back and ignore the tingle I feel on my fingertips. Touching him is a mistake.

He grumbles but allows me to sit him near the fireplace with a book taken from my shelf. Anything to keep him occupied and out of my way.

“Here. Read this, and let me focus. I will tell you when food is ready,” I state, earning a dramatic sigh from him.

Still, Draven cracks open the aged tome, apparently accepting temporary literary imprisonment if it earns him breakfast. I’ll take the reprieve, no matter how fleeting.

Soon enough, we eat in strained silence, and I desperately wrack my mind, trying to think of activities to occupy Draven’s attention. Our forced togetherness in my tiny cottage is painful without some kind of diversion.

My gaze wanders around the room as I search for inspiration. I could teach him to knit his own scarf. It’s tempting just for the look on his entitled face, but we would probably kill each other halfway through. Teach him basic chores again? Equally risky. Herbalism lessons? Not on your life, vampire.

I eye my box of polished spell stones atop the mantle. Their smooth surfaces reflect the firelight hypnotically. Crafting a checkers set could work… although that would require interacting collaboratively. I sigh, letting the notion go. Better to avoid fueling conversation.

The fire crackles, sending a cascade of sparks up the chimney. I watch their glowing dance, transfixed by their ephemeral beauty. If only distracting this restless vampire were as simple as reading tea leaves or tossing bones. Divining his future would at least pass—

Wait! Now there’s an idea. Perhaps I could disguise a reading as a part of chess. I could create a board withmarkings of the gods on my divination stones for our pieces, and I could read how they are arranged after the game. He would never need to know, and perhaps I can discover who this vampire really is.

“Here. Take these back to the hearth,” I direct, allowing no room for argument.

Draven’s eyebrows lift, but he complies without verbal protest, returning to the fireplace with the new reading materials.

Satisfied he’s settled again, I scour my cabinets in search of suitable supplies. In a lower cupboard, I unearth a section of sanded pine board leftover from some forgotten project, its surface smooth and intact. Perfect for crafting the grid.

Next, I rifle through baskets and jars until I find my paints—pigments painstakingly derived from plants, minerals, and other natural sources. I select two rich contrasting tones—deep emerald and burnt umber. Their vibrancy will lend life to the otherwise mundane board.