Page 12 of Misbehaving With Minotaurs (Haven Ever After #8)
CHAPTER SEVEN
CATHERINE
I rush from Manorin’s temporary office as if my skirt’s on fire. Pheromones drip from me, filling the air. That scent calls Manorin, I know it does, because now that he’s in town, our chemistry is painfully obvious to me.
Vikand’s name flashes again over the watch.
Rounding the corner, I back against the wall, half expecting Manorin to stalk toward me, rip the watch off my wrist and shove me up against the wall to take what he wants.
Gods, that sounds fun.
I half pray for that as I direct the watch to answer Vikand, my voice tremulous.
Vikand clears his throat. “Err, Catherine? Is that you?”
I resist the urge to remind him that he called me . Instead, I smooth back my hair.
“Yep, you’ve got me.”
He pauses for a long, awkward moment. “Well, I’m not sure how to say this, but Arkan let me know my behavior at the field wasn’t acceptable, so I’m calling to apologize for leaving you when I got a call. ”
I slap a hand over my face. Could he be any more obtuse?
! In that moment I know one thing for sure— nothing about Vikand is right for me.
If I’m honest with myself, Manorin’s correct—I picked Vikand because he was safe and easy and available.
But none of that is enough. I’m better off alone than dealing with a square peg, round hole situation.
A smile tips my lips upward at realizing I don’t have to force a connection where there’s not enough of one to mean anything.
“Listen, friend,” I say gently. “I understand. I thought perhaps there could be something between us, but it’s clear to me that you’re on your own path, a very exciting path, I might add, and?—”
“You don’t want to reschedule? Catherine, I?—”
I interrupt him the same way he just did me. “No, Vikand. I’m absolutely sure. There’s no need to reschedule.”
He pauses for another moment. Another clearing of his throat.
Gods, this is starting to annoy me.
“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that’s fine, then.”
What would Manorin do in this situation? That unhelpful voice in my head pops up again. This situation would never happen with Manorin, because he’s always perfectly clear about what he wants and when he wants it. That doesn’t seem to have changed in the two centuries since we parted.
It occurs to me I could hang up this call and return to his office to take exactly what he offered me.
But, no, I’m not going to do that. I’m going to let that play out later. I’m a little curious to see what Manorin will do next.
“Goodbye, Vikand,” I say with confidence, relieved to be done attempting to court a male who doesn’t have any common sense.
H ours later, I’m prepping three apple pies in the kitchen, considering how much relief I feel at, well, I can’t even call it breaking up with Vikand.
We never even dated, and I don’t count the failed picnic attempt.
Vikand was so much the opposite of my Wesley.
Wesley was brash and brilliant and charming, and he used those assets to hurt monsters I cared about, attacking Ever and unleashing thralls within our wards.
He betrayed me in the deepest possible way.
I should have known he was bad news… Annabelle never loved him.
But I don’t have to worry about Wesley anymore. He’s dead and gone, thank the gods.
My kitty cat timer hops from the windowsill to the island, flipflopping over to me as the sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall to us in the kitchen. The timer’s tiny features curve up into an honest-to-gods smile.
Moments later, Manorin ducks into the kitchen with a smirk on his face.
He slides onto one of the barstools, which creaks under his enormous weight.
Leaning onto his forearms, he stares at me, crimson eyes scanning my face and dropping lower.
His perusal is a heady thing, my power rising to the obvious call of his interest.
Without the distraction of Vikand, my sensuality is roaring back. I lick the spoon I used for the pie, running my tongue suggestively over the curved end.
Manorin’s nostrils flare as he rises, planting both hands on the countertop.
“There you are, woman.” His tone is low and suggestive, crimson eyes narrowed as he stares at me. “Let me guess, it didn’t work out with what’s-his-name?”
I grin. “It didn’t.”
His red eyes drop down my body then back up, and in that moment, I feel more beautiful than I’ve felt in a very, very long time. Because the way Manorin looks at me is worshipful.
Just then, my pixie guest, Gilbert, pops his head into the kitchen with a smile, glancing at Manorin’s enormous back. “Err, sorry to interrupt, Catherine. I’m out of towels, and I know you told me where I could grab more, but I’ve already forgotten.”
I flash him a big smile. “No worries at all, Gilbert. I’ll bring a stack to your room as soon as I get these pies in the oven.”
The pixie male waggles his brows. “Tell me I don’t have to wait until morning for the pies? They smell delicious!”
That pulls a laugh from my throat. “You don’t have to wait until morning for them. As soon as they’re done baking, I’ll set them out in the formal dining room, and you can grab a piece. Come fast, though. They move quickly.” I shoot him a friendly wink.
“Thanks, Catherine!” He waves as he turns and heads back up the hallway.
I set the spoon down, then round the island. When I’m close enough to Manorin, he grabs my hand and pulls me close, dipping low. He nuzzles his snout against my ear, sending white-hot rays of heat through my body.
“You’re fucking dripping pheromones, Cath,” he murmurs. “Needy little Sunshine. You’ve been a godsdamned faucet since I got here. After you help him, let’s go to dinner and talk about doing something with this heat.”
I turn to him with a smile, summoning my power to tweak my pheromones in the way I know will drive him wild. The slight change has an immediate effect.
Manorin lets out a quiet low. The sound is a combo of a moo and a growl and it’s so deep, I nearly gasp from the reverberation of it.
Now that we’re playing like this, I want to drive him utterly wild. A switch has flipped somewhere inside me, and it’s all systems go.
“Not tonight, Manorin.” I bat my lashes up at him. “I’ve got quite a lot to do around here.”
He drops his grip on my hand, lifting his chin as his smirk grows. “Alright, Catherine. Tell me how I can help, and let’s get it done together. Either way, I’m taking you to dinner. You turned me down yesterday, but tonight, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I wave away his offer. “That’s alright. I’ve got my methods and?—”
He silences my refusal by bending down and licking a hot path over my bottom lip. His tongue is rough and wet, and everything inside me clenches up tight. Pulling slightly back, he stares at my mouth.
“You could have this hot tongue on your pussy tonight, Cath. Because I’ve got a proposal for you that involves friends with benefits simply because it’ll feel good.” He plays with a strand of my hair. “No strings attached, woman. Use me up because we both know you want to.”
He straightens, his expression a challenge.
Come to me. Give in.
But this is how it always was with us. Teasing and pushing until we fell ravenously into bed.
“I can agree to dinner,” I manage.
He straightens with a satisfied smile. “Good, Sunshine. If you won’t let me help you, I’ll wait out front.”
The kitty cat timer meows and flip-flops head over heels across the countertop. When it halts in front of Manorin, he leans onto both forearms on the counter, still looking at me. “Actually, looks like I’ll be here having a little chat with Annabelle. Find me when you’re done.”
A chat with Annabelle? Surprise courses through me.
She’s a wonderful hostess, but she doesn’t typically do more than make her opinions known to our guests.
For her to initiate a conversation of sorts with Manorin is a surprise indeed.
I stare at the timer for a long moment, but she studiously ignores me as she purrs and scoots closer to Manorin’s hands.
I mull that over as I grab Gilbert’s towels and consider my old friend’s proposal.
A succubus’s deepest desire is to fill and be filled, but contrary to what many seem to believe, it’s not solely from a sexual standpoint.
It’s true that I can tweak my pheromones and easily read others’.
But it’s also true that I have an innate need and ability to read monsters in general and to ascertain what they need emotionally and mentally. Making monsters happy is my thing.
It’s why I’m the unofficial mother of Ever.
I welcome guests and new citizens alike.
I give the welcome tours. Now I’m the one handing out the stunning new welcome books, designed by my friend Betmal and his mate, Ama.
And filling those roles brings me joy. I’ve focused almost entirely on that, casting aside the more physical aspects of my power.
But Manorin brings all of it to the forefront.
My belly flutters with anticipation as I return to the kitchen. He stands with his back to me, the cabinet doors in front of him flung wide. The kitty cat timer sits on top of his head, nestled in his short waves as he screws the cabinet hinge.
I clear my throat, but he moves slowly, I assume not to dislodge the timer. She spins too, her kitty face splitting into a grin as a tiny meow echoes from her.
“What are you two doing?” I round the island and join him just as he sets a multitool down on the stove.
He swings the cabinet door open and shut a few times, and the timer meows happily. She leaps off his head and onto the countertop, then hops up and down excitedly.
“All done, sweet Annabelle,” he practically croons .
My mouth drops open as he reaches out and brushes a big knuckle along the timer’s round head. “Are you flirting with my house?”
He crosses his arms and leans against the island, smirking at me as the timer rolls away to her resting spot near the back windows. “She indicated she wanted my help.”
I scoff. “Is that so?”