Painted Devils (Little Thieves, #2)

by Margaret Owen

“You,” he says blearily, “are an unparalleled devil from hell in your sleep.” “What?” Emeric rubs his eyes. “You stole all the blankets. And then you rolled up in them, like a, a crêpe, so they were stuck on your side. And then, when I tried to take one off the top, you turned over, looked me straight in the eye, and said—and I quote—‘I’ll kill you.’” “I never.” “You followed it up with ‘It’ll look like an accident.’” That unfortunately tracks. Mortified, I wordlessly free one side of the blankets and extend it to him. He sheds the laundry and scoots under with a grumble that subsides when I wrap my arms around his chest. He is rather dreadfully chilly. I mumble into his nightshirt, “Well, at least you know I can’t come up with a decent murder threat in my sleep.” “Quite the contrary,” he says, almost a touch impressed. “I asked several follow-ups. Your plan was shockingly robust.” “Nooo,” I groan. “One of your contingencies involved a pig farm.” “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”