Page 100 of Demon and the Raven

“Please, Xan,” he husked. “This’ll be the most relaxing thing I’ve done all night.”

Darting back into the bathroom, I used the large jar with the dropper, measured ten or twelve into my hand, and smoothed the oil through my hair from scalp to ends. It made it silky but could not combat the curl or the wildness, as Lorne said of my wavy mane that fell nearly to the middle of my back. I had told him it needed to be cut, but then he’d tangle his fingers in it and tug me gently to him, and I’d forget what I’d been saying.

When I returned, having changed into sleep shorts as well and nothing else, Lorne gestured for me. He was sitting up, propped by pillows, and I moved up between his legs, crossing my own, and he started to brush. He was so much gentler than me.

“All right now, are you focused?”

“I am,” I promised, though the brushing was very soothing.

“So where do you⁠—”

“Sorry, I have to ask, and I am focusing, just not on the part of the problem you’re trying to solve at the moment,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder.

I loved the mischievous grin I got in response. “Go ahead. What part of this insane problem are you trying to solve?”

“The getting-the-demon-on-Corvus part.”

“Okay.”

“Last year, yes. Possibly. If the demon didn’t attack me immediately, I could see it. But now, the second there’s a glimmer of I want to hurt Xander, the roots of all the trees would shoot up through the ground and suck it down under.”

“Which would be cool to see again.”

I turned to look at him.

“What?” he asked.

“When you saw the land do that in the past, those were very specific instances of defense. The land is not the giant plant from Little Shop of Horrors.”

He chuckled. “Toby was so cute in that.”

Toby was cute in everything. “He was, but, Lorne, Corvus is more beautiful than deadly.”

“I’m not disputing that. But it would kill anyone here trying to hurt you.”

“Or you.”

“Really? Me?”

I glared at him. “Of course. You know the land wants you here, and the cottage adores you. Both would protect you the same as they do me.”

“The cottage, I’ll give you,” he agreed. “But the land?”

I took a deep breath.

“Wait, listen, Xan, I’m not saying I’m some nobody off the street, but⁠—”

“You love pomegranates.”

It took him a moment. “What?”

“You love pomegranates,” I reiterated. “I like them. They’re fine. But I can take ’em or leave ’em. I prefer oranges, as they have more uses for simmer pots, and if you cut them in half, eat the fruit but leave the center stem and then pour olive oil in it to just below the top of the stem, then boom—you have an oil light that smells good.”

After a minute of nothing but silence, I turned to find him smiling.

“What’s with the face?”

He put the brush down and took my face in his hands. “Your brain, I swear, is filled with so many fascinating tidbits of information and fun crafts.”