Of Heat and Obsession (The Death Whisperer Book 2) by Katie May

Author:Katie May [May, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Expresso Publishing, LLC
Published: 2023-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Calan ignores me for the remainder of the night, though he doesn’t leave me alone. I can feel his eyes on me as I dig into the food a staff member brought up—a loaf of bread and fresh beef stew—and then again as a small town seamstress comes up to my room, blurry-eyed and half asleep, to take my measurements for new clothing. She promises to have a few dresses mended and ready for me by tomorrow morning.

When I inquire about gloves, one of Calan’s eyebrows touches his hairline, but he doesn’t comment as he translates for the seamstress.

“Yes, of course.” She nods curtly and then scurries out of the room.

Now, I’m curled up on the floor beside the huge bed that dominates the center of the room, attempting to get comfortable on the cold wood.

Calan, who’s sleeping on the mattress, heaves out an irritated breath.

“Can you stop wiggling?” he demands, his voice a frosty, brittle sound like cracking icicles.

I ignore him and turn on my side so I can see out the window. The moon has just wedged itself behind one of the largest trees. A dusting of pale light streams in through the opened blinds. I don’t know when it stopped raining, but I half wish it would start up again. Then, I wouldn’t have to listen to Calan ceaselessly drawl on about who the hell knows what.

I shift again, grateful Calan at least provided me with a pillow and blanket, though the latter does very little to quell the cold. I swear that every room Calan is in is always a few degrees colder than the rest of the building.

“Oh, for the love of…” Calan grumbles, and then I hear the rustling of blankets.

A tick later, large hands scoop me up as if I weigh nothing and settle me onto the bed. Mingled shock and fascination freeze me in place while I gape at him, but he doesn’t appear to be paying any attention to me as he wraps the blanket around me with a scowl.

His white hair stands out starkly in the illumination of the room. It glitters as if each individual strand has been dusted with starlight. I can see the raw fury in his eyes, the downwards tilt of his lips, the clenching of his jaw.

My heart jumps in my chest.

Shakily, I lift my hands to sign, “I’ll sleep on the floor. I won’t move. I promise.”

Calan rolls his eyes and falls back onto the bed beside me, lying overtop of the covers. He places his hands on his chest and allows his eyelashes to flutter shut, those long, sooty hairs like thin twigs.

“Good night, servant,” he murmurs, not bothering to look at me again.

He also doesn’t shift to move closer to me, remaining as far away as the bed will allow. A few ticks later, his breathing is steady, and his chest rises and falls rhythmically.

Without that ornery, combative glint in his blue eyes, he looks like an entirely different person.

Peaceful.

Kind.

But I see him for what he is.

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