A frown pulled at Brynleigh’s lips, and a line marred her forehead. “It’s almost dusk, and I have to go to Jelisette’s tonight.”
The debrief.
With everything that had happened with his father, Ryker had forgotten all about it. He hadn’t even realized an entire day had passed.
“Oh.”
Brynleigh worried her lip. She’d been doing that a lot since he rescued her.
“I’ll need to leave soon. Jelisette doesn’t like it when people are late.” Pain flashed across Brynleigh’s face, a whisper of hurt that had Ryker wanting to punch Jelisette.
“I understand.” His gaze swept over Brynleigh, cataloging the paleness of her skin, the darkness in her eyes, and the way her fingers tapped nervously against her leg. “Are you hungry?”
Relief flashed through those black orbs.
“Yes,” Brynleigh breathed. “I wasn’t sure… Is there…”
“There should be blood in the kitchen.” He’d made his mother promise to keep some stocked before he married Brynleigh.
Back when giving her the sun and providing blood were their biggest problems. Things had changed, but hopefully, the blood would still be there. If not, he’d figure something out. “I’ll take you.”
Walking on quiet fae feet, Ryker slipped the door shut behind him. He found the nurse in a room down the hall, letting her know they’d be downstairs.
Brynleigh trailed him through the corridors of Waterborn House. With every passing moment, that canyon between them yawned. By the time they arrived in the kitchen, crossing the divide felt almost insurmountable.
But Ryker had to try. He couldn’t let things remain the way they were.
He flicked on the kitchen light.
This had always been his favorite room in the house. Despite the industrial appliances and enormous double fridge that belonged in a restaurant, the kitchen had a homey feel that most of Waterborn House lacked. An enormous island stretched across the length of the room, white cabinets covered the walls, and usually, open windows overlooked the garden. Now, they were covered in black drapes.
Ryker pulled out a stool for Brynleigh, waiting for her to slip onto it before he strode over to the fridge. Tucked behind a row of condiments, as if someone had tried to hide them, were several bags of blood.
He reached inside, gently maneuvering around the glass bottles and jars. “Warm or cold?”
“Warm,” was her whispered reply.
Ryker nodded, shutting the fridge. Even though years had passed since he had last lived here, the kitchen layout was exactly the same. He located a mug and scissors with ease.
He worked silently, pouring the blood into a cup and heating it in the microwave. A coppery tang filled the air, mingling with the lemon-scented cleaner his mother preferred.
The whirring of the microwave was the backdrop to Ryker’s spinning thoughts. He couldn’t wait for the divide between him and Brynleigh to miraculously repair itself.
First of all, it didn’t seem possible. Secondly, and more importantly, if he’d learned one thing from watching his father slowly Fade from the Stillness, it was that time was precious.
He refused to wait for the “right moment” because they were rare.
He would make his own moments happen.
The microwave beeped, and Ryker bent, pulling out the cup. Iron tickled his nostrils, and he slid the mug across the island.
He rested his forearms on the counter. “Let me know if it’s warm enough.”
Brynleigh flashed him a soft smile, raising the cup to her lips. She sipped it slowly before taking a larger swallow. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Ryker.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the smile or the gentle way she spoke his name, but his chest warmed.
When he searched within himself for the anger that had been his companion for days, he didn’t find it. Its absence confirmed he was taking the right course of action, emboldening him.