Page 35 of Twisted Gift

“Remember the night you saw me singing at the pub?”

“Unfortunately,” I remark in a dry tone.

“Be nice,” he comments. “You called me out for feeding. In my long-ass time as fae, that’s always been my preferred method. Taking from crowds is faster and less messy. I don’t have to worry about anything. There are always enough people; I’d overdose on energy before I ever took too much from one person.”

I arch a brow even though he can’t see it. “It that possible? Overdosing on energy?”

He laughs. “I don’t actually know. I’ve never done it. That’s not the point. I’m saying, this is a foolproof way to feed without the fear of hurting anyone. I know how you are about control, and though you can’t control your need to feed, this at least can give you the confidence of knowing you won’t hurt anyone. I didn’t mention it until now because you needed to know how to feed on an individual anyway. It’s easier to learn how to feed from one person before feeding off a crowd.”

My pulse ticks a little faster. If he’s right—if this works—it would make my life a hell of a lot easier. “Okay,” I agree. “Let’s try it.”

“Good. I have to go, but we’ll talk more before the meeting.” Telling him about Jules isn’t something I feel right doing over the phone, so I make the decision to wait to tell him.

When I get home, Allison is already in bed. I change into yoga pants and an oversized shirt before I grab one of the many unread books from my shelf and curl up on the couch in the living room. I’m just getting into the thick of the story, after reading for almost an hour, when someone knocks on the door. I almost groan at the sound but hold my breath. I don’t want to deal with anyone tonight. Choosing to ignore it, I focus my attention back on the book in my lap.

My eyes dart up from the page as Max shifts into the apartment. He stops a good three feet from where I’m sitting and crosses his arms.

“What the hell?” I grumble. “Way to waltz in without an invitation.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s with the shifting? You never used to do that.”

He shrugs. “Tristan didn’t want us doing it around you. He thought it’d freak you out as a human, but I figured now that you can do it yourself, that request no longer applies.”

“Whatever,” is all I say because Ihaven’tdone it myself yet. “What were you doing in the office earlier? You couldn’t have done . . .thatelsewhere?”

“Ol and I were having drinks at the bar, and we stumbled in there to find some quiet,” he smirks. “We lost track of time.”

“Never again,” I warn.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. It’s clear by the lines in his forehead and the twist of his lips he’s got something more to say.

“Max,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

His eyes meet mine, then drop to the book I’m holding. “You can read?”

I chuckle. “Funny.”

He tilts his head as if he’s trying to look at the cover. “Huh. Anyway, I need your help.”

My eyebrow lifts as I glance at him with a doubtful expression. “Hold up.Youneedmyhelp?”

He scowls. “Try not to sound so thrilled about it, would you?”

“Sorry,” I say, but my tone is unapologetic. This moment is everything.

“Here’s the thing. I want to do something for Oliver’s birthday this week. I tried to talk to Allison, but she wasn’t much help in the idea department.”

My eyes widen in the same moment my stomach drops. Oliver’s birthday—is this week—and I forgot. Shit, I’m the worst friend ever. “You want me to help you plan a party?”

“Yes.”

“You realize we’re in the middle of a war, yes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

Blowing out a long breath, I stand, walking toward the kitchen to brew a cup of tea. “Okay,” I concede. “What did you have in mind?”

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