He glanced over his shoulder, perplexed by my question. “No.”
I bit down on a grin. He must have been one of those get-things-done people. Emily was one of those people.
We walked into the kitchen, a massive, open-spaced arena compared to the last place I’d cooked a meal, complete with stainless, commercial-sized appliances. I followed Logan into the pantry, considerable in its own right, and watched as he rummaged through vegetables, boxes, and cans.
“What are you looking for?” I asked from behind him.
He stopped his exploration to look at me. “Something quick.”
I realized I was hovering, and leaned back, picking a random can off the shelf to examine. It was caviar. They had an entire shelf of caviar. I would have settled for a single jar of peanut butter.
Logan handed me an onion before gathering a few green peppers to stack on top of the other ingredients for our dinner. I followed him back into the kitchen where he dropped the vegetables into the sink and started a pot to boil. He washed the peppers and moved to set them on the counter, so I stepped out of his way, and then shifted again when he went for a saucepan. The third time, his brow drew down in annoyance and he took me by the waist to move me from his path.
I watched from my new position as he deftly diced onion and pepper, threw them in with olive oil, added some garlic and parsley, and neatly slid pasta into the roiling water.
The scent of tomato seemed amplified by the steam and my stomach panged. Luckily, he’d plated up spaghetti and warm bread within minutes, holding one in each hand as he gestured for me to come along. By that point, I was so hungry I would have followed him anywhere. He stopped just outside the kitchen, where a small nook contained a table, two chairs, and an east facing window.
I sat, curling my bare feet onto the railing beneath the chair, and used all my strength not to shovel hot pasta into my mouth as Logan watched. After a moment, I regained myself and swallowed. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
The corner of Logan’s mouth rose, and suddenly, as if only then realizing he’d been staring, he went to work on his own plate.
I tore off a piece of bread, finding I couldn’t seem to stop watching him now. There was a tiny little scar on his temple that disappeared behind dark blond hair. It must have been fresh, probably from the battle with Morgan’s men. My stomach turned. I pulled the chunk of bread in half, and then again. “Do you cook often?”
His gaze slipped to my fidgeting hands. “Only when I need to eat.”
I dropped the fragments onto my plate and asked, “You don’t live at one of the houses?”
Logan glanced over his shoulder, and back at me. “No. I’ve stayed, occasionally, but I keep a private residence,” he dropped his own bread, “since I moved from Council.”
Since Morgan had taken over his home. He let the silence hang between us, until I asked in a whisper, “Will you go back?”
His eyes met mine, suddenly dark amber in the faint light. “I don’t know, Brianna. It … it isn’t the same.”
I knew exactly what he meant. We had lost our mother, our home, everything except each other, Emily and I. We’d been more on the run than adrift, but there was no going back, either way.
And now Emily had Aern.
Logan gestured toward my food, pretending not to notice the hand pressed tight against my stomach, and said, “Finish up. I want to get an early start this morning.”
This time, it was a Cadillac V. Daybreak was just starting to color the sky, giving its sleek black angles an unnatural glow. I had the strangest notion that it reminded me of their eyes, the way they all seemed to radiate that something “other” within, but when I looked at Logan, our gaze locking over the roof of the sedan, all I saw was a man.
We settled into the car, strapped the seat belts on, and took yet another route to Council’s main building. I watched the sunrise reflected in the glass of the homes and buildings, thinking of all the people who didn’t know we even existed. I imagined they were inside, going about their daily business, not even concerned that if I couldn’t do my job, if I couldn’t find the connection to fix Emily, they would all die.
Images of their faces flipped through my consciousness, broken and splattered, no time to so much as scream before the impact came. Liquid fire pulsed through the scenery, reducing it to metal framework and ash. And here, in this living nightmare, their eyes did burn. Not an otherworldly glow, but a blaze. The blood of the dragon.
“Brianna,” Logan said from beside me.
His words cut through the vision, and I closed my eyes hard, forcing the images away. I had seen them before, a thousand times. It was nothing new, but somehow, more intense. Painful.
When my eyes came open, Logan’s hands were cradling my face. My fists were pressed hard against my chest and stomach; I felt like retching.