Page 48 of Wicked Bonds

“Then why don’t you do that while I cook something.”

“That would require groceries,” she muttered. “Or something to cook.”

“I could go pick something up,” he offered.

But she shook her head again. “You have to stay nearby in case I need to mist.”

“We can order something and have it delivered, then,” he said.

“You really like food, don’t you?” He sensed she was drawing on a memory of Brazil because she started thinking about pancakes.

“I like anything that gives the body pleasure,” he informed her, deadly serious.

Her eyes brightened in response. “A man after my own heart.” The way she said it suggested she was just as serious.

However, rather than elaborate, she merely continued their previous topic by saying, “There are a few places nearby that have decent food. You’ll have to pay cash.”

She walked over to open a cabinet in the kitchen that revealed a safe. Her nimble fingers quickly keyed in a code, granting her access.

“Take whatever you need but don’t leave the apartment. I’ll be in the air.” She disappeared in the next breath, leaving him to play.

And play he would.

“Your lingerie collection is impressive,” Balthazar said when Leela finally returned.

He’d arranged their dinner—Italian from the place he’d thought about earlier—on the coffee table in her living room because she didn’t have a proper dining table anywhere. And while he’d waited for it to arrive, he’d made himself at home in her personal space.

“Portovinos,” she murmured, ignoring his lingerie comment and focusing on the food. “I approve.” She collapsed onto the couch beside him. “Which phone did you use to order?”

“The burner I left on the counter,” he replied. “You have quite the stash of supplies.” Including several passports and a shit ton of cash. It rivaled Jay’s vault of similar items for the Elders. He had an entire room devoted to foreign currency alone.

Right next to his armory—something he didn’t find in Leela’s one-bedroom flat.

In fact, she appeared to be completely weaponless. The only sharp objects were her steak knives. No guns. Nothing modern.

Although, one could argue that the black negligee in the top drawer of her dresser was a weapon.

Because she would absolutely slay in it.

“Are you going to open that?” she asked, gesturing at the wine. It was a dry white to go with the seafood pasta dish he’d ordered for them.

He reached for the bottle and the opener beside it, then started working on the cork. “Tell me about the wards.” He wanted to understand how they worked. “Will they alert us of incoming Seraphim?”

“They’ll alertme,” she told him. “You can’t sense ethereal energy, so you can’t see or feel the wards.”

He finished uncorking the bottle and started pouring her a small amount to taste. “Ethereal energy, similar to what happens when you mist, right?” he asked while handing her the glass.

Leela inhaled the fruity aromas of the wine, swirled it a little, then took a sip. “It’s good.”

He tipped the bottle over her glass to give her a proper fill.

“And yes, that’s right,” Leela continued. “Seraphim souls are ethereal in nature. It’s where our powers come from. Blood is what carries that energy in a corporeal state, which is why Osiris’s Ichorian lines require it as a sustenance.”

“But Hydraians don’t.”

“Right, because you’re children of a Seraphim-like creature. Or that’s the theory, anyway. Your bloodlines are somehow purer and closer to that of my kind as a result. Which is why Seraphim have always considered Hydraians to be the bigger threat.”

That was an interesting detail, one Balthazar would need to share with Luc later. He poured himself his own glass while he considered what she’d said about ethereal energy. “Wakefield can see Stas’s wings now. Does that mean he can create a rune or a ward?”