Page 71 of Shift of Morals
A wave of her hand and a cheerful fire started, warming my backside but keeping my front chilled.
“Again,” she demanded.
Sighing, I did as she asked.
Chapter
Eighteen
CAELAN
Most nights, I retired to my office as a way to soak up some quiet and contemplate the day. I found it relaxing, and the time alone often led to new ideas or revelations I hadn’t considered during the day.
With Gianna in the Keep and the countdown to the wedding, this once-contemplative time became a time where I had to just sit down and take a breath because I was going out of my skin with stress and worry.
I tossed a piece of raw steak to Seymour, who promptly spit it out. The action made me chuckle because the thing was ravenous, so who or what had he eaten to make him not hungry now?
The flytrap hopped over—something I knew he could do, but he had never shown me before—using his pot to land flat on the table. Then he reached over to nip at my sleeve.
He bit every single person who came into my office, except for me. Even gentle Ben, whom he’d once liked. I didn’t have the heart to ask Ben if something had happened, because I had to restrain myself from trying to rip his face off for even daring to pursue Evie.
Two kitchen staff had quit after Seymour’s bite sent them into temporary paralysis, and Gianna had requested multiple times that I “dispose” of Seymour as if he were trash instead of a sentient being.
Seymour’s teeth didn’t break my skin, but I’d have to replace my shirt by the time he was finished. I’d never get rid of him, even if he were a bloodthirsty weirdo. He and the turtle vine were the only things I had of her, and Gianna didn’t know where the other one had come from. I wouldn’t tell her either, not trusting she wouldn’t destroy it just because she knew Evie had given it to me.
Gianna wouldn’t go near Seymour. The flytrap despised her and lunged at her every time she came inside.
Speaking of her, the door opened, a soft, mysterious perfume announcing her presence before she entered.
Seymour made a rumbling noise.
Gianna huffed. “You still haven’t gotten rid of that thing,” she sniffed.
“I already told you, Seymour stays.”
My eyes roamed over Gianna as she closed the door behind her and sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. Seymour started hopping toward her, but I grabbed his pot.
“Behave.”
Seymour rumbled at me but made no move toward her again.
Gianna’s gaze landed on the three additional samples Evie had sent over via courier earlier. “Those are the new choices?”
I nodded. All of them in Gianna’s chosen red and white. I hated every one she sent but knew I wouldn’t win this battle. Winning the war was more important.
“Better,” Gianna acknowledged grudgingly. Her gaze flicked up to me. “Thoughts?”
Oh, I had so many thoughts. The woman before me had an icy beauty that turned many heads, but her heart wasjust as frozen. I liked my women to run hot and furious. A warrior didn’t have to hold a sword to be terrifying. But Gianna preferred underhanded, manipulative tactics to win, not blunt, in your face war.
She was dressed to kill this evening, wearing a one-shoulder red cocktail dress and gold high heels. Her long hair was pinned in a perfect chignon, and her makeup was perfectly applied.
“Have plans this evening?”
Gianna scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course, I do. Unlike you, I don’t prefer moping alone in my office during the evening.”
Magic rose in the room, a physical manifestation of my anger. “I also like moping in the living room and the kitchen. Sometimes even the bedroom if I’m feeling really feisty.”
Gianna sighed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Caelan. How do you expect me to be your wife if we’re never seen together?”
