Page 79 of Vicious Luna
Once I’m dressed, I sit on the edge of the bed staring at the door for a good ten minutes, wondering if there’ssome sort of protocol I’m supposed to follow here. Avery stressed the importance of me staying shut up in this room last night, but she didn’t say anything about today. This isn’t a cell. The door isn’t locked. So am I supposed to stay put, or can I come and go as I please?
Fuck it.I’m not just going to default to being a prisoner if I don’t have to. Unless someone wants to try and stop me, I’m taking advantage of my freedom.
Pushing up from the bed, I stride toward the door, opening it and stepping out into the hall. I follow the sounds of clinking dishes and the smell of food all the way to the kitchen, poking my head in the doorway to find Sloane at the counter making breakfast. She’s dressed in leggings and a loose cotton tee that’s hanging off one shoulder, her curly hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Clamping the waffle iron in front of her shut, she turns to glance back at me over her shoulder as she presses a button on the handle, a friendly smile lighting up her face.
“Good morning!” she sing-songs, waving me inside to join her. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved,” I chuckle, approaching the large kitchen island and sliding onto the nearest stool. I think the last thing I ate was that protein bar before Sloane came into my cell yesterday. Unsurprisingly, nobody was really thinking about food in the aftermath of The Guild’s attack.
Sloane scoops up a white ceramic mug with ‘Duchess’ stamped on the side in big black lettering, strolling over to the nearby coffee maker. “Coffee?” she asks as she lifts the pot from the burner, tipping the steaming liquid into her cup.
I give a little shake of my head, mumbling, “I’m good.”
She arches a brow as she replaces the pot on the burner. “Not a coffee drinker?”
“Not really. Or at least, not unless I need the caffeine. Or a shot of whiskey.”
She darts me a smirk. “We've got whiskey.”
“Nah, it's not that kinda morning.”
I watch as she pivots to carry her coffee over to the fridge, sliding the mug onto the counter beside it and pulling open the door. She grabs a container of caramel flavored coffee creamer from inside, pops the cap, and pours a ridiculous amount into her cup before returning it to the fridge and nudging the door closed with a hip. Then she picks up her mug and spins around, approaching the opposite side of the kitchen island and leaning forward against it, resting her forearms on the surface.
“I didn’t get a chance to say thank you,” she says, her cup clinking against the quartz counter as she sets it down. “Ya know, for saving my life and all.”
I shrug a shoulder, averting my gaze. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Excuse me, it was totally a big deal,” she scoffs, her hard stare burning into the side of my face until I finally turn my head to meet it. She’s such a pipsqueak that even while she’s standing and I’m seated, we’re still not quite at eye level. “You didn't have to turn around and come back for me, but you did,” she points out. “I definitely owe ya one.”
“Guess it was the least I could do after you let me out, huh?” I reply, chuckling uncomfortably.
“Yeah, about that…” she trails off with a sigh, lacing her fingers together and bringing them up to rest underneath her chin. “Are we gonna talk about you being an intuitive or what?”
I furrow my brow, but then the waffle iron beeps and Sloane holds up a finger as if to tell me to hold that thought, pushing off from the kitchen island and spinning around to tend to it. I watch as she lifts the clamp and uses a fork to pull the fluffy waffle off, moving it to the top of a stack plated up on the counter.
“Damn, what's in those?” I ask, my mouth watering as the sweet scent wafts toward me. “They smell amazing.”
“Bananas and walnuts,” she quips, pouring more batterinto the waiting iron. It sizzles as it spreads into the grooves, smelling fucking heavenly, and she closes it and presses the button before spinning back around to face me. “They're Madd’s favorite,” she adds with a wink as she crosses back over to the island, reaching for her coffee. “Figured it’d be a good idea to start his day on a positive note after all the craziness yesterday.”
I snort a laugh, jerking a nod in agreement. Now that I’ve met both Sloane and Madd, their whole dynamic is fucking mind-boggling to me. I have no idea what a sweet, perky little thing likehersees in a surly asshole likehim, but there’s no denying how much they care for one another. And I can’t help but be a little jealous that even as prickly as he is, he’s got someone who cares about him enough to wake up early and prepare his favorite breakfast. Nobody’s ever cared that much aboutme.
“So, intuition,” Sloane says, taking a sip of coffee before setting her mug back down on the counter. “It’s like having gut feelings about things, but on steroids. You can sense things other people can’t. Like danger, for example.”
I stare back at her blankly, still not fully grasping her explanation. “So, is that part of the whole shifter thing?” I ask.
She suppresses a giggle, shaking her head. “No, not usually. All shifters have enhanced senses, rapid healing, increased strength…” she trails off with a flippant wave of her hand. “You know the basics. But there are also some rare traits that only a few shifters have, and those are usually passed down through families. Intuition is one of the rarest.”
“Okay,” I reply slowly. “I don’t think that’s what’s going on here, though. I mean, a lot of people have gut feelings.”
“Sure, but it’s different when those feelings are more like a premonition,” she says, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter again. She tilts her head, peering at me thoughtfully. “When we were down in the cell yesterday, what’d you feel, exactly?”
“Like someone took an egg beater to my intestines,” I mutter, flickering my gaze away.
“See!” she declares, slapping a palm against the counter so loudly that I flinch. “I felt the same way! My mom knew she was an intuitive from the time she was a kid, but I only got my gifts recently, so I feel like I can recognize the difference. It’s so much more intense than just a hunch about something.”
I swipe a hand over my chin, brow furrowing in contemplation.Sure, as if being a werewolf doesn't make me enough of a freak, let’s just add one more thing to the mix.
“Have you always had those types of feelings?” Sloane asks, softening her voice as if she’s sensed my discomfort and is trying to rein in her enthusiasm.