Page 119
So I keep pushing.
It's practically my sole purpose in this godsforsaken mess, making sure he doesn't turn into a complete fucking idiot.
I think I might be failing.
“I am not asking for your fucking opinion.” Oberon shoves back from his chair, the obsidian plates of his armor clinking together as he rises. “I'm asking for your help.”
“It's really hard to take you seriously when you're dressed like that.” I grin, waving off the threat in his tone.
Finally, his expression softens, just a fraction.
He glances down at the armor covering him, annoyance replacing irritation. “Remind me again why I keep you around.”
“Oh, that's easy.” I throw my hands up and begin counting on my fingers. “I'm handsome, smart, charming, funny...” I wiggle my last finger, pretending to think. “Oh, right.” I flash him an exaggerated grin. “Someone has to keep the stick out of your ass.”
He sighs, sinking back into his chair and rubbing his temple. “You forgot something.” He taps a finger against the desk.
“Nope...” I recount my fingers. “I think I got them all.”
He snorts. “A fucking idiot.” The words are dry, but the curve of his lips tells me I'm still winning.
“Funny.” I shake my head, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth as I meet his glare without an ounce of concern. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
His smile only deepens before fading into something more serious. “You going to help me?” he asks again.
The humor lingers between us for another heartbeat before I let out a sigh and cross the room to the shelf where I know he hides the good stuff. I grab the bottle, return to the desk, pull out the chair opposite him, and finally take a seat. “I don't think I have much choice.”
I pour us each a glass before sliding one across the desk.
“Thank you.”
I know he is thanking me for far more than just the drink. “I hope you aren't actually planning to see her dressed like that.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“I'm serious. It's fucking nightmare fuel.”
He shakes his head, choosing the drink over whatever insult he was about to throw back at me.
“Why did you take her? What's the plan?” I ask, wrapping a hand around my glass. “If I'm going to get dragged into this shitshow, I'd at least like to know what I'm walking into.”
“She'll be useful.”
His half-answers still drive me up a fucking wall, although after all these years, I should know better than to expect anything else.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Help her.” The answer hangs between us, frustratingly vague.
Well, I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything different.
“I hope you know what you're doing.” I finish my drink in one swallow and refill the glass while he takes a slow breath, his eyes drifting somewhere beyond me as though he's already looking at the future instead of the room around us.
“Me too.”
The quiet that follows is broken only by the muffled voices filtering through the closed door.
Oberon goes rigid.
