Page 195 of Psycho Gods

“Here.” Malum walked across the room and dragged over the angel’s tea cart. He looked ridiculous wheeling the little silver trays filled with flower-shaped cakes.

He sat down in one of three leather chairs and gestured to Jinx and me.

“Um,” I said awkwardly as I stared at a chair, then back at him.

Pink stained his cheeks as he cleared his throat and waited. A yawn climbed up my throat as I sat in his offered chair.

“Thanks,” I said.

His blush intensified. “Anything for you.”

All three of us sat.

He leaned toward me, and I pretended not to notice navy painted nails twisted a curl that had come free from my bun.

He casually played with my hair.

My spine hurt.

Jinx reached for the cups, and Malum stopped her.

“I got it,” he said gruffly, then held a flaming finger under the kettle to warm it.

When he was satisfied with the temperature of the water, he packed strainers with tea leaves and placed them over each of our cups. He took painstaking care pouring the liquid.

It felt like a fever dream.

After he was satisfied with the state of our tea, he grabbed little plates and piled them high with cucumber sandwiches and cakes.

Pink became scarlet as his blush deepened under my scrutiny.

“You both need to eat more,” he said as he pushed the overflowing plates in front of Jinx and me.

Jinx nodded and attacked the food.

I sat rigidly and stared at the leader of the kings.

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile.

I forgot how to breathe, my stomach pinched, and pain tingled down my spine.

In the back of the room, a demon snored and John moaned something in his sleep.

Malum held up a cucumber sandwich, laughably small compared to the size of his hands, and it took me a second to realize what he was waiting for.

I touched my sandwich to his. “Cheers.”

“To winning this war,” he whispered as a scarlet flush spread down his neck. “We can do this.”

“Hopefully,” I said tiredly.

He shook his head. “I have a good feeling. Did I ever tell you about how we became kings?”

“No,” I said, shocked that the recalcitrant man who literally breathed fire was opening up to me.

“Trust me, our odds were way worse back then,” he said.

Then to my utter astonishment, he launched into an unbelievable tale about how they’d fought for days with no weapons. They’d only had their fists, one another, and the power in their veins.