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"Well, you seemed really angry at me last night, and then you stormed off this morning before I could wake up, muttering 'fuck' under your breath, so I thought it would be best to make a little feast of apology," I say breezily.

Then I make the mistake of making eye contact with him. There's an intensity in his eyes that takes my breath away.

"I must have really pissed you off with what I said last night, and I'm not even gonna repeat it. And I just wanted to say I was sorry, and I thought it would just make us both breakfast, you know, the best way to start the day. And I don't really have anything else to do, so..."

"Apology accepted," he says in his gruff Scottish accent. "You didn't need to fash yourself about it. I'm not used to being around people anymore. It's beneath your station to cook breakfast."

"Oh, okay, so I'm gonna get etiquette lessons while I'm here, is that right? And you're going to be giving them?” I squint at him. "Perhaps I should arrange for etiquette lessons for you."

He glares at me, and I soldier on.

"I have a feeling whatever fourteenth-century etiquette the Eternal Society abides by can go fuck itself," I say with a smile, and meaning it. "I don't give a shit what they expect from me," I tell him. "I read in the book last night what my powers are or will be, or what the Midnight House powers were, whatever. And it's quite clear that they're not gonna like me no matter what I do. Judge, jury, I—" I say, tapping my chest as he shoves a honey-lemon blueberry cake in his mouth.

His eyes close, lashes fluttering, and he makes a deep moan that sends a shiver down my spine.

"It's less about them liking you, lass, and more about keeping you alive," he says.

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Fortunately, I'm not here to make you feel better," he says, grabbing a piece of bacon and eating it, too. Another honey cake follows.

I grab a plate and pour some of the scrambled eggs onto it for him, then hand it over.

"You're serving me food as well as cooking it?" he asks, a strange look in his eyes.

"Of course I am. It'd be rude not to," I say easily, then make my own plate.

I only take one of the honey cakes because it's clear that Lachlan has a favorite, and I do it much more to sample it than anything. I've never cooked with real honeycomb before, and I'm curious to see how it changed the texture, if at all.

"There's never been a Head of House that was concerned with being polite to me," Lachlan says. "My kind and yours don't mix."

"We mixed just fine last night," I tell him. "Well, until I pissed you off by not knowing... Oh, is that why you want to get me an etiquette coach?" I say softly. "Did I hurt your...?"

I stare at him, trying to figure out what it is exactly I could hurt. Sense of pride? Is it rude to say that to a shifter?

"I'd much rather read about etiquette than take lessons," I answer before he has a chance to say anything.

He looks completely out of sorts by my questioning, though, so I hand him another honey cake, shoving it directly into his mouth. His eyes widen as the pad of my thumb brushes his lower lip, and heat practically sizzles across my skin, directly down my spine, at the brief feel of his mouth against my finger.

"Something like that," he says gruffly around the honey cake. "Today, I thought we'd have to probably take you shopping."

"Shopping?" I say with a snort. "The closet in my room is absolutely full of outfits."

"And do you like them?" he says.

"Well..." I shrug and glance down at my deep-red sweater and jeans. "They're not terrible."

"Aye, it'll probably outfit you just fine, but you'll need a few specialty things to keep you safe in your upcoming rituals for ascension."

He's careful not to make eye contact with me again, and I make a mental note to take my ass down to the library and find a book on shifter etiquette ASAP. The last thing I need to do is piss him off again.

"I'm sorry I barged in your room this morning," he says. "I think I'm the one who owes you an apology for that. I didn't expect you to be..." A big hand reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, and I raise an eyebrow at him, resisting all the urges I have to make a joke about how he's a prude.

"That my tits would be out?" I answer for him. "I know that must have been a real hardship to see."

"Aye, you could say it was a hardship," he says, still not making eye contact. "Did you make coffee, too?"

"Yep," I tell him, taking a bite of eggs before forking a piece of honey cake into my mouth. I immediately spit it out. I do not like it. "This is waxy."