Casteel captured my wrist. “Why,” he said, his voice low but light with amusement, “must you toucheverything?”
My lips pursed. “As I’ve said before, I’m a tactile person.”
“If you need to feel something up, I have something you can get all kinds of tactile with later,” he remarked, causing my cheeks to flame. “And I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I so did.
Letting go of my hand, he steered us toward the middle of the hall. I scowled at the fact that the statues were now out of my reach.
“I didn’t want to feel it up,” I muttered, shooting him a scathing look. His answer was a chuckle.
“This way,” Reaver said, guiding us toward a hall to our right.
Through the windows lining the hall, I caught glimpses of the white walls of one of the dormitories as Casteel trailed his hand down the middle of my back. It would be nice to come to a point where those buildings could be used to house people not training to make war.
“Have you told her about those who have come to Wayfair every day to see her?” Reaver asked as we passed several closed doors.
My head snapped toward him. “What?”
Casteel cursed. “No, I haven’t.”
Reaver chuckled.
“What is he talking about?”
“Nothing,” Casteel maintained with a smile.
“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“Rumors of you being a god have spread,” Reaver explained despite Casteel looking at him like he wanted to kick him through the wall.
That wouldn’t happen because I was about to kickhimthrough a wall. “Neither you nor Kieran mentioned that.”
“Because it’s not a big deal.”
“Then why have they come?” I demanded.
“To pay you homage,” Reaver answered.
My mouth dropped open.
“They have left gifts. Tokens.”
“What?” I whispered, glancing at Casteel, watching the muscle tick in his jaw.
“Coins. Flowers. Their babes’ blankets. Candles and figurines,” Reaver rattled off. “Someone left a pig.”
“A…a pig?”
“A live pig.” He sent a frown over his shoulder. “Not sure why.”
“Perhaps they learned of your love for bacon,” Casteel remarked.
“But why would they leave a live pig?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
His gaze slid to mine, and the color of his eyes warmed like pools of golden amber. “How do you think you end up with bacon?”
“I know how bacon gets made,” I told him. “I just don’t like to think about it.”
