“So, tell me more about these house rules you mentioned,” Annex murmurs, stretching back in his chair. He pulls a hand up, running it through his dark hair. It immediately falls back into place, looking just as perfect as before he disturbed it.
His horns are missing at the moment, and while it makes him lookslightlymore human, the shimmery skin gives it away.
I don’t walk around in monster form, solely because no one would ever want to be around me again, but I can imagine how freeing it would be. It makes me wonder why he doesn’t stay in full incubus form all the time. It would be safe enough. The sanctuary ward around Black Cove ensures that.
“Rules, darling,” Annex says, cracking a playful smile. “I believe you were about to enlighten me on them.”
“It’s not my home, so I can’t impose rules,” I say, placing my cup on the small table. “I just hope we can find a way to coexist—to be mindful of one another. Like if you get off work at three in the morning and make a lot of noise as you come in, that will probably wake me up.”
Technically speaking, I don’t require sleep to function. Although I do find the action comforting.
When I was a baby, I never slept.
Ever.
It almost drove my mom crazy, but my fathers split shifts, often taking me out of the house on walks to keep me from waking the others, who did require sleep to function.
Around three years old, I finally started napping, and after they got over the fear something was wrong with me, they asked me to rest for at least six hours a night. It took some practice, but I got the hang of it. Over the years, it’s become a habit, and since I know almost no one in Black Cove, it’s a convenient way to pass the time.
“Are you really that light of a sleeper?” Annex asks, smirking. “What if I tiptoe?”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.” I smile tightly. “As long as yourguestsare also respectful of the fact I might be asleep.”
He chuckles. “I think you’ve greatly overestimated my ability to make friends. I’m just as new to town as you are.”
That might be true, but he’s an incubus. He should have a much easier time than I do getting to know people. Sex demons are flirtatious and outgoing. Or maybe I’m stereotyping based on the few of his species that I’ve met.
“I’m not really worried about friends you might have over to hang out.” I roll my eyes. “I meantsexual partners.” My face heats as I realize I whisper-hissed the last few words.
Why am I so awkward? I’m a powerful demon. I shouldn’t blush from simply talking about sex.
“Gods, you are adorable.” He grins, shaking his head. “Any other rules I should know about? Sorry. I meant guidelines. Any other guidelines I should know about how to be a respectable housemate?”
My teeth dig into my lower lip.
Shit.
I made a small mental list, but he put me on the spot. “We should respect each other’s private spaces and clean up after ourselves if we make a mess in the common rooms.”
“Like the kitchen and living room?”
“Exactly,” I say, nodding.
Annex leans back in his chair, raising his hands above his head as he stretches. “That sounds reasonable.” The bottom of his T-shirt rises with his movements, showing off several inches of shimmery skin. “Anything else you’d like to discuss?”
I clasp my hands together in my lap to keep from fidgeting as I think through his question. “I believe that’s it, but we can always reconvene later if something unexpected comes up.”
“Sounds good to me.” He nods at my empty to-go cup. “Finished? Or would you like another? You might be pushing the limit on free refills, but I’m happy to buy you another cup if they cut you off.”
“Hell no.” I shake my head. “I’m already about to pop. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find a toilet.” I shove my chair back and stand to the sound of Annex’s laughter.
“You are a strange little witch, indeed,” he murmurs as I’m pulling open the door to the coffee shop.
Without enhanced hearing, I would have missed that, which means I can’t turn around and glare. Witches have a sense of hearing that’s on par with humans.
I miss Haven so much.
And I really miss not having to pretend to be someone I’m not.
