“Drink something. You’re dehydrated,” he said before he could stop himself. “Listen, I know that seemed like a big fuss, but I’m not a wean,” she countered. “I don’t need tending.” “You said you didn’t eat because you were nervous.” He crossed his arms. “What were you nervous about?” She paused with her fingers wrapped around the teapot handle. Silas’ stomach churned. He could hazard a guess as to what made her nervous. He was an Infernal. An Incubus with a ruthless reputation. He knew he scared people—enjoyed that fact occasionally when it suited his needs. But fear was counterproductive in
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