Page 68 of Crave Me
Hence Vesperus’s reminder this morning.
“Well, maybe if the breakfast was spiked with your blood, I would remember to eat it,” I’d told him last night. He’d remarked on my penchant for skipping meals, and I’d bluntly responded.
“Vesperus mentioned orange juice,” I said now, smiling hopefully at Betty.
She rolled her almond-shaped eyes at me and stalked over to an industrial-sized oven with a heat rack on top. “Crepes, too,” she told me, grabbing a plate with an oven mitt before continuing on toward one of the room’s many fridges. “And yes, he made you orange juice. Freshly squeezed, too.”
There seemed to be a pun in that last sentence, one that made me grin.
She set me up in the dining room that was closest to her kitchen, which I didn’t really need, but I’d learned early on that disagreeing with Betty earned me nothing. I’d still end up at this table, eating whatever food she desired.
As she was a rather skilled chef, I truly didn’t mind.
Thus, I settled into my chair and enjoyed the crepes before treating myself to Vesperus’sfreshly squeezed orange juice.
So good. And definitely not alcohol.
His blood was as decadent as any dessert, yet not exactly a chocolate flavor like his scent. More of a sweet ambrosia that I could drink for days.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to give me any of his abilities. Otherwise, I would have used telepathy to thank him for the delicious drink.
“There you are,” Cara said, entering the dining hall with a huff. “You’re supposed to call me when you leave your room. Remember?”
She’d given me a phone the other day for that purpose. However… “I left it on the nightstand.”
“I know,” she deadpanned, sliding the device across the wood.
I stared at it. “My dress doesn’t have pockets.”
“So wish for some,” she countered.
My lips pursed.Pockets will really ruin my gown.
I studied the phone, searching for a solution, then sprinkled some stardust over it as I wished for it to turn into a bracelet.
My lips curled as the metal morphed into a golden cuff with a moon etched into the center. “That’s so much more fashionable,” I told Cara.
She glared at me, her expression suggesting she was about to lecture me on something unhelpful.
So I ignored her, slipped on the bracelet, and pressed the moon. Magic created a screen that allowed me to send her a text.
I’m in the dining room drinking blood-spiked orange juice. I won’t be sharing.
Cara’s glare melted into laugh lines as she shook her head. “You’re a brat.”
“I’m a goddess,” I corrected her, closing the screen. “And I don’t need a babysitter, nor do I need to eat breakfast. But the orange juice put me in a good mood, so I’m willing to overlook the insults of being treated like a five-year-old.”
I set my napkin to the side and stood.
“Where can I go to appear natural in this territory?” I asked Cara. “I would like to make friends.” It would help me decide if I wanted to remain here.
Cara covered her heart and feigned injury. “Ouch.”
I frowned. “What?”
“And here I thought you and I were friends,” she continued, her voice overly dramatic and filled with false sadness.
“Are we friends?” I asked curiously.
