Page 39 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

A massive grocery run. It must have taken hours. Instinctively, I grabbed a box of graham crackers, intending to turn the label outward.

But it was already out. My breath caught as I stepped back and surveyed the shelves. Every label faced outward. Every box, canister, and jar was perfectly aligned. Just the way I would have arranged them.

“Oh, good, you found the groceries.”

I turned to find Arlo in the pantry doorway, his clothes as impeccable as always. A satisfied expression glimmered in his eyes as he gazed at the shelves.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said.

He blinked. “I didn’t.”

“But…you had to. We ran out of everything.”

“I didn’t buy groceries, Miss Ward. Prince Einar did.”

My heart skipped a beat. “He’s back?”

“Yes, he arrived late last night.” Arlo ran his gaze over the shelves. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

“Pancake mix, but it’s not a big deal.”

Arlo reached behind his back, then produced a box of powdered pancake mix with a golden-brown stack dripping with syrup on the front. “Will this do?”

“What are you?” I blurted. Instant heat flooded my face. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s rude to ask.”

A smile warmed Arlo’s eyes. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t have allowed you to see my magic if I minded you knowing what I am.” Suddenly, a ghostly pair of large, black horns flickered on either side of his head. His skin reddened, and his voice grew deeper as he tapped his chest. “I’m a Legerdemain demon.” He pulled a pink rose from thin air, then extended it toward me. “My people can retrieve items from other planes. Like a magical sleight of hand.”

Awe spread through me as I accepted the rose. Unable to resist, I buried my nose in its petals. “That’s such a cool power.”

Pain flitted through Arlo’s eyes. “Not everyone thinks so. Traditionally, my kind work as assassins. We can pull weapons from anywhere, which makes us excellent killers. Few in the supernatural world trust us. Most fear us. More often than not, we’re shunned.”

My heart sank. I stepped close and put a hand on his arm. “Oh, Arlo. What about other Legerdemain demons? Do you have a community you can rely on?”

His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I’m afraid not. All demons are long-lived, and most clans are old-fashioned.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Archaic is probably a better word, to be honest. The elders prize strength and brutality.” He drew a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. “Demon strongholds aren’t an easy place to be gay.”

My throat thickened. Before I even realized what I was doing, I’d yanked him into a hug. He stiffened, and for a second I thought he’d pull away. But he placed the pancake box on the shelf beside us and then rested his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m not sad about it anymore,” he murmured. “I never wanted to be an assassin anyway.”

I eased back so I could see his face. “I’m really glad you’re not an assassin. And I’m honored to call you a friend.”

His brown eyes shimmered with moisture. “Me too.”

“Does that mean you’ll finally start calling me Harper?”

“I promise to think about it, Miss Ward.” He straightened, his usual cool reserve falling over him once more. But his shoulders were relaxed as he nodded toward the shelves. “If you’re missing anything, just give me a shout. I’ll hear you.”

I looked at the rows of pantry staples, each one with its label prominently displayed. “Did you put these groceries away when Einar brought them home?”

“No. Prince Einar handled everything.”

A curious awareness settled over me. Einar was the only person at Draithmere who knew about my anxiety disorder—and he’d arranged the items on the shelves in a way designed to please me.

I turned to Arlo. “I hope he’s not upset you let me use the kitchen while he was gone.”

Arlo smiled. “Not at all, Miss Ward. It was Prince Einar’s idea.” Arlo slipped from the pantry, his statement landing like a bombshell among the rows of crackers and macaroni.

My thoughts spun as I stared at the supplies. Einar knew my mother had been a top food critic. He’d seen her recipes in my notebook. I’d told him I planned to make all the dishes she wrote down but that school got in the way. So he’d arranged for me to spend the week in the kitchen. He’d obviously been in contact with Arlo, who must have mentioned the dwindling groceries. So Einar replaced them—and then positioned everything as I would have. Those weren’t the actions of someone who despised humans. My mind harkened back to one of my earliest conversations with Arlo.

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