Page 47 of Claim Me

“I’ve not once tried tomake you talk, Fallon. I know better than to force someone to open up when she’s not ready to.” And I’ve had several decades of practice when it comes to counseling others. While I don’t view Fallon as a patient, I do understand her need for patience.

“So you’re just going to ply me with food until I’m ready?” she asks incredulously.

“I’m going to cook for you for the rest of eternity because I want to,” I correct her as I kneel beside Nox to be closer to eye level with Fallon. I’m too tall for it to work perfectly; even with her sitting up, I’ll still be looking down at her, but it’s better than standing over her. “You’re our fated mate, sweet flame. And my love language is food.”

“It’s true,” Nox says. “Bane loves to cook, but he only does it for those he likes or cares about. That’s why he never offers Nolan any of our leftovers.”

I snort. “Nolan wouldn’t try to eat any of them even if I did offer.”

Nox smirks. “Pretty sure his meal of choice is death.”

“It probably is.” Or something incredibly unsavory. I’ve actually never seen the archangel eat. But I’ve also never paid much attention to his personal choices.

Fallon studies both of us, her green eyes burning with a mixture of accusations and questions. Rather than voice any of them, she slowly sits up and takes the bag of crisps I set on the nightstand.

I do my best to school my expression, not wanting to dissuade her by grinning. But inside, I’m definitely smiling.

I anticipated her needs, and her satisfaction is a reward I’ll savor forever.

She pops a crisp into her mouth, chews, and swallows. Then eats another before grabbing a water off her nightstand—one of three bottles that I assume Nox set there while she slept.

We remain silent as she eats, our elbows resting on the bed as though we are her indentured servants. Which I suppose we are. At least to an extent.

She enjoys a few bites of her sandwich, her eyes taking in our kneeling positions with interest.

After a few beats, she sets her plate down, her brow furrowing. “Why are you both doing that?”

“Doing what?” Nox asks, perfectly aware of what she means but infusing his words with flawless innocence.

“Kneeling on the floor,” she says, her tone suspicious. “Is this a new way to try to make me talk? By pretending to submit or something?”

“We’re not submitting,” Nox murmurs. “We’re just respecting your boundaries.”

“By kneeling on the floor instead of sitting on the bed?” She sounds incredulous. “Since when do you not make yourself at home on my bed, Nox?”

“Since you decided to be mad at me for trying to talk sense into Kaspian,” he replies.

“You were on my bed when I woke up earlier,” she points out.

“Yes, before I realized you were upset with me.” He lowers his chin to the mattress so he’s looking up at her. “Now that I know you’re angry and why, I’m waiting to be forgiven.”

“Typically, one sayssorrywhen he wants to be forgiven,” she informs him.

He hums in understanding. “I see. Okay, then. I’m sorry Kaspian is an idiot who doesn’t know how to talk to you.”

She blinks.

Then she breaks out in a laugh that makes my heart soar.I want to do that,I think.I want to make her laugh like that, too.

But this time it’s all Nox, and the way his blue eyes sparkle tells me he’s quite pleased with himself for it.

Fallon shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m sorry Kaspian needs lessons in how to communicate?” Nox offers, his eyebrows waggling, causing Fallon to giggle again.

“We’re sorry our comments implied that we’re only kind to you to make you talk,” I interject, meaning every word. “That’s not what either of us meant.”

Although, technically, I didn’t say much during the conversation. However, I was looped into it by proxy.