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I’m basically his responsibility at this point. I’ll bring joy to his deadly life and he will protect me, and that’s a totally fair exchange.
I don’t have an answer for her and couldn’t say even if I did. Snicker. I love mute puns, but only when I make them.
I’m embarrassed to admit, watching him cut down the people protecting the priest (who is totally running away, and no I’m not going to stop him. I’ve done my job, thank you very much), that I have a chubby from seeing my man murder people so efficiently. In a church. God, if ever there was a time for a deity to smite me with lightning…
Since I’m not struck down or given the plague or anything, I take my continued living as a pretty solid argument for my atheism or at least against organized religion.
Wow. I should probably do some belly button staring to figure out where my moral compass went.
Fox takes a seat on one of the sofas away from the table, and then the man pulls me into his lap. I like where this is going. Hand-holding and lap-sitting are totally things we should do. Giving him my happiest smile, I kiss his cheek again, because he should be rewarded when he treats me in the way in which I want to become accustomed.
She has strawberry blond hair pinned up in a chignon—yes, my uneducated ass knows that word—and
Obviously being married to a murderer comes with some risks; being indestructible makes those risks negligible.
Clearly my man gets his meat in bulk; like he buys beef a cow at a time.
Fox loosens his grip on me, but I’m not ready for the end of this full-body contact, so I wrap all my limbs around him and squeeze, telling him with my body that he better hold on or there will be consequences.
“Coffee, work, breakfast date,” he murmurs. The words have the effect he intended, exciting me enough to roll off him and shoot him a happy smile as I head to my room, morning wood leading the way.
Even though it hasn’t been cleaned yet, I put on the brown and gold suit again. It complements my coloring and makes me feel sexy, and since we’re going on a date after he kills a man, I want to feel like I look my best.
I knock while turning the unlocked door—who keeps their door unlocked in this city? Anyone could waltz in off the street. Like me.
I nod, excited about what kind of gift my man wants to buy me, but secretly I’m hoping he’s got good taste or the wherewithal to know he doesn’t and the wisdom to let me pick my own. People say it’s the thought that counts, but if you don’t know what your person wants, you should think about letting them pick it themselves. That thought definitely counts.
Sorry, Fox, you’re on your own if you get caught in another trap. I can’t help; I have too many diamonds to protect now.
Man, I had no idea brooding Fox would be just as sexy as murdery Fox. He’s such a temptation.
I widen my eyes at Fox, conveying in no uncertain terms that no one is going to be pregnant for a century, especially not me. Fox gives me a flat look and subtly shakes his head, agreeing with me that we’ll adopt when the time comes. At least that’s how I’m interpreting that look, and no one is going to convince me otherwise.
I’m a little jealous of what Fox gets, though I’m greedy enough not to want to share mine to taste his.
Arousal flushes through me as he thrusts his hard-on against mine, nearly convincing me to forget that we have work to do, but the timer on my phone going off reminds me that there are people to kill.
Me: I am getting laid tonight, so if anyone needs to die, they’ll have to wait for Fox until tomorrow or die by someone else’s hand. Depot: What time? Me: Starting at 8 PM. Depot: Until? Me: 8 AM? Depot: Noted. Twelve hour sexcation confirmed. Huh. It worked. I totally got us off the clock for twelve full hours! Go me! Fox: Did you tell the depot we’re taking a sexcation? Me: Yup! Fox: … Fox: Good call. Me: *grin* *peach* *eggplant* *waterdrops* *drool* Fox: Emojis exist. Me: But this way you know I’ve intentionally sexted you. Fox: Valid.
I would never let Fox break up with me over something stupid. I mean, it’s not like he’s ever going to overhear me talking about anything out of context. Snicker. Benefits of being mute.
whoever took these kids will rue the day they got on Fox’s radar. Annette will make sure of it, and I’ll be right there to witness the fruits of their regret.
I feel his magic hit me, but this time it washes harmlessly over me. I guess he’s feeling a bit attacky now. Ha!
Isn’t it lovely how I’ve already trained Fox to be more communicative? I’m a goddamn miracle worker, aren’t I? Mute boy trains the silent type to talk in less than a week. Amazing.
My stomach thinks eating itself is a good idea, but I convince it that food is a better option by shoving some of the cold amuse-bouches into my pie hole.
Me: This is Romily. How are you, Omp? McQueen: I am well. What can I do for you? Me: Well, what are my options here? Are you all powerful, and I can ask for anything, or is this limited to reasonable requests?
Fox’s dry look could mummify the living.
I gasp at the insinuation that I should aim to do anything less than set the standard for the reputation for all Harbingers everywhere.
I huff in frustration and make grabby hands to anyone with a device on them.
I’m amazed at and love this family for wanting to know my words even though I can’t speak them.
Bellamy arches a brow at me and smirks, stopping in his tracks. “I’m not a mind reader.” I drop my shoulders and give him a very expressive flat look, challenging him to defy me. I have zero problem embarrassing him again; I hear that’s what parents are supposed to do.
“So, what’s with all the tables?” he asks after a minute. I look at him, look down at my full hands, and back to him again, blinking at him like he’s stupid. I know he’s not but filling the silence with not-yes-or-no questions is dumber than a mute boy. I can say that; it’s my disability, and I can be as un-PC as I want to be when it’s convenient for me.
I’m going to get my third date. It’s as inevitable as the next ice age, but maybe as far away as that.
My disability makes some people uncomfortable. Confidence is sexy, and my estimation of Darcy’s sex appeal is dropping by the word.
