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Redford snapped, “You made a mistake calling me, Razai. I don’t take requests from you.”
Suddenly, Razai’s demeanor shifted. He still lounged, his legs kicked up on the coffee table. He stared up at the ceiling, not a thread of worry to be shown.
But his eyes had narrowed to slits. The carefree smile disappeared. “This isn’t a request, and you don’t have room to deny me. Make the meeting happen, Redford.”
The hairs on my arms stood on end. Those cold words… the easy shift between playful and deadly… this was the Razai to be wary of.
Redford spluttered on the other line.
Razai spoke over him. “Get back to me in the next day, alright, old friend? Have a nice evening.” He hit the red button with his thumb and reached for another croquette. “These are so delicious. Didn’t I do well? I think I did pretty fucking well. You definitely seem to think so.”
He chewed happily for half a minute, oblivious to my calculating gaze. That is, until he said, “It’s rude to stare at people while they’re eating.”
“What’s your deal?” I demanded.
His emerald eyes slid to me. Slowly. “I like potatoes. And cheese. In baked ball-form.”
My glare seemed to make him think I was after his croquette, because he ate it extra-fast with a defensive posture.
I clarified, “What’s with your attitude? I really can’t figure out who you are. You walk around like an arrogant fuckboy, and then you pull out that psychopath voice that makes me wonder if you’re in the mafia. Which one of those faces is your real one?”
“Both,” he answered with a wink. “I am a complex man.”
I sighed and collapsed against the backrest, defeated. “You make it really hard for anyone to believe you.”
“Oh? And you’re just a walking open book, then?”
“Uh… duh.”
“Excellent! Explain your mysterious power to me, then. Share your methods. What do you look like when you’re angry—wait, no. I already know that one. Damn.”
“Point taken,” I relented. “Everyone has different sides to them. I get it.”
Maybe I should just accept him as he shows himself to be. No need to overthink it too much.
Razai took a sip of my beer next and then handed it to me.
I glared at the faint smudge his lips had made on the rim and sipped from the opposite side. “What’s your affinity? You never said.”
“Unknown.”
My mouth fell open. “That happens to less than—”
“One percent of the population. I know.”
“So, you really have nothing you can control? Nothing at all?”
He shifted, and his knee brushed the side of my foot, though he didn’t appear to notice. “I had a doctor tell me I may have a physical affinity. Strength and speed seem to be my specialties, and I’ve always been better at fighting than anyone else.”
“That sucks. That you don’t have an affinity, I mean.” Why do I want to move closer to him right now?
“Does it, though?”
I studied his face. Really examined its calm surface. His easygoing tone. “You’re not upset about it.”
“Of course not. Why be angry about things I can’t change?” He licked his bottom lip, and my stomach flipped.
I cleared my throat and scooted an inch away. “Well, archangels are very proud of their affinities and bloodlines. Legacies literally run the country. Don’t tell me people aren’t looking down on you for it.”
