Page 64 of Third Offense

Yet I knew a total of four, including Layla.

Auric gaped at me, his surprise palpable and expected. “The others are all Noir females?”

“Yes.”

“Then go mate one of them,” he answered immediately.

I blanched, disturbed by the very thought. “They’re like sisters to me. And we’re not compatible. At all.” Which meant Layla wouldn’t be attracted to their scents, either. Otherwise, I would have at least been slightly interested, in a similar manner to how I found Auric’s wintergreen scent alluring.

He grunted again, his wings fluttering to keep himself steady in a subtle incoming breeze. “Layla isn’t yours.”

“Yet,” I replied again, allowing him to hear my confidence. “She’s not mineyet.”

He growled.

I just rolled my eyes. “We can either fight about this, which will end with me drowning you in the ocean, or you can tell me what’s really bothering you. Beyond your obvious dislike of me as a competitor, I mean. Which, by the way, is never going to change. When she chooses me, I’ll accept. We both know that.”

“Ifshe chooses you,” he corrected.

I merely stared at him.

He glared back.

We might not know each other well, but we both knew my response to his statement. Because it was the same one he would give in my situation.

I yawned, bored with this immature game of entitlement. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s troubling you, then we can head back. I have business to attend to.” I flared my wings, preparing to fly, but the aura around him pulsated with a blast of anxiousness that held me captive. “Seriously, what is going on?”

His expression told me how he felt about my ability to sense his unease. But the turbulent texture of his blue-green irises also said he wanted to say something.

So I waited for him to collect his thoughts, doing my best to appear patient.

He seemed to be going back and forth on whether or not he wanted to speak.

Then finally, his shoulders fell, and it gave me the distinct impression that he was giving into some sort of pull. Perhaps the one tied to our own compatibility brought on to our soul’s connection through Layla.

Or maybe he’d decided I was a last resort.

If that was the case, then I was even more intrigued.

“The last four days,” he began slowly, his jaw working as though he was forcing the words through clenched teeth. “The last four days have all been the same.”

I blinked at him. “Okay…?” That seemed a weird thing to be distressed over. Was he used to constant change as a commander?

“I wake up. I explore. But Iston catches me, and I go to the kitchen where it is always nine o’clock when I arrive. Then Netiri comes in, flirts with me even though I remind her each day that I have a mate, and I take breakfast to Layla. We fly. Then we see Layla’s mother for tea. Then we shower and change and meet you all for dinner. Fuck. Sleep. Repeat.”

I studied him, trying to determine what the hell he was going on about. It sounded a bit routine, sure.

However, the part about Netiri surprised me. The female Noir was unmated, but not necessarily flirtatious. Actually, Vasilios was encouraging me to take her on as an advisor of sorts, preferably as the head of my future guard. She was old, having been among the few to escape the plague seven hundred years ago, and therefore a trusted family friend.

But a flirt?

No. I had a hard time believing that.

“Look, I know it sounds insane,” he stressed, taking the words out of my mind. “But I woke up today before sunrise and went straight to the kitchen, where the clock read nine again. And not three minutes later, Netiri appeared, just like she does every morning.”

“She’s probably just trying to see what you’re up to, which I can understand since you admitted to exploring,” I countered. “She and Iston are both trusted advisors to the King and Queen. They have free rein, and often involve themselves in everyone’s affairs to ensure safety.” I couldn’t help the irritated note in my voice because they’d involved themselves in my affairs more than once. “They’re annoying, but they mean well.”

“Then explain the clock,” he said through his teeth. “How is it nine o’clock every damn morning?”