Page 33 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

Men, same as women, weren’t complicated creatures. Beg them to let you fall to your knees, and minutes later, they’d drop their head backward, exposing the arteries running along theirnecks. And if they were black-banded, the city held no interest in the state of their being: breathing or not.

Only I wasn’t in Ilasall anymore.

Zion gestured to the seat he’d offered to me. “Sit. There’s a draft, and I don’t want my food to get cold.”

Groans sounded around the table, and Jayla slapped her forehead. “You truly are insatiable,” she said, then explained at my confusion, “He thinks you’re his dinner.”

“I’m aperson, not a fucking meal,” I hissed at him.

“Debatable.” He reached for a pitcher of water and poured me a glass. “Here. I don’t like my meat dry.”

I didn’t know if it was the unblemished pair of navy sweatpants hanging low on his hips, masking my stab wound on his thigh, a patch of sandy skin visible where his long-sleeved shirt had risen, or the wide grin tugging on his high cheekbones, but I took the seat. Plopped my ass down like a soldier after an order. Clearly, I had problems. Not that I wasn’t aware of them, but I had to move, not let them pull and push me around like I was part of…whatever this was.

“Why am I here?” I snapped. “What do you want? Why won’t you let me go home?”

“Home? You call Ilasall your home?” Gedeon slid into a seat across from me and cracked his neck. Pure night reflected in his eyes beckoned me to stay in place and not sprint through the door we’d come through.

“What doyouknow about home?” I retorted.Homecarried a whiff of the past, a withered undertone of a meaning that had ceased to exist. So no, Ilasall wasn’t my home. No place was.

Buttery sweetness invaded my nostrils, and I glanced down, pressing my lips together to avoid licking them at the sight of piles of fresh food spread out on the table. Trays and trays of various puff pastries—my favorites—colorful bowls brimming with steaming vegetables, plates so full of roasted potato wedgesthey were on the verge of falling out, and was that a pan filled with meat?

Saliva overfilled my mouth. How did they have so much food? Food I couldn’t get in Ilasall, food the non-fertile of us couldn’t afford.

“I like her mouth,” Jayla said, plucking a thread from the neckline of her short, gauzy green dress. Based on the subdued color choices in others, my purple outfit had most likely originated from her closet. Noticing Gedeon’s disapproval, she added, “What? It’s true. She’s going to eat you alive.”

“I wonder what else her mouth can do,” Zion drawled.

“It can bite off your tiny dick.” Fuck. Them. All.

Laughter broke out around the room. Eli punched at his chest repeatedly until his choking eased and he joined the others in their mirth, looking straight at Zion for some reason. Gedeon smiled, actually, genuinely smiled for the first time since he’d kidnapped me.

He was beautiful.

Scowling, I grabbed the dinner knife from my plate and stabbed it into the table, the cool metal handle vibrating in my grasp. “Why am I here? What do you want?” Zion’s calloused palm wrapped around my fist, and I ground out, “Say something, anything about my mouth again and I swear to the gods, I’ll use this knife to cut your tongue out myself.”

“Nice threat.” A woman with ebony braids swooshing back and forth with her movements settled near Gedeon. Her smile glinted with amusement as she asked him, “Has she tried to kill you yet?”

“I was thinking about doing it with this knife.” I pointed to the utensil embedded in the wooden surface.

“Not a bad choice,” she said approvingly. “I’m Sadira. We haven’t met, but don’t waste your breath on an introduction. I know who you are.” She poured herself a glass of what smelledlike orange juice and raised it in a toast. “Jayla, I think you were the one betting on death by a blade, right?”

“You bet on how I’d murder them?” As I sunk back into my seat, my knife clinked against my empty plate. “Seriously?”

What the hell was this place, and who were these people?

Gedeon filled his plate with a variety of pastries, eclairs and croissants, buns and puffs, and placed it in front of me. “Eat. You will need energy to keep up with those murder dreams about me.”

Dreams? More like reality.

I sent the sparkling dinner knife flying toward his irritating smirk. Unfortunately, my aim wasn’t perfect. He twisted in his seat to avoid my new favorite weapon, and it clattered on the floor behind him.

Just perfect.

Ezra whistled. “You should join Eislyn in her knife-throwing lessons with Eli. A few lessons, and you’ll hit your target next time.”

Now that was a nice idea.

“Tell me a day and time and I’ll be there,” I said, pretending that the sweet scent of baked goods didn’t make my mouth water.