supposed to mean?”
She shrugged again. “Just what I said. We were all a little scared of you, you know. Before we knew anything. We just didn’t know why we were scared.”
Hearing that hurt. He’d took pride in his cultivated ability to blend in, to be unremarkable. He’d thought for years that he never gave his coworkers at most jobs any inkling of what he was, but maybe he’d just been seeing what he wanted to see.
As Cassie began bolting down the chicken, a more immediately pressing thought occurred to him. “Oh wait…I forgot to make the salad,” he said, feeling foolish. “I knew I forgot something.”
“Oh, I’m so heartbroken,” Cassie deadpanned as she chewed. “This is so yummy, why ruin it with vegetables?”
Chapter Nine
They talked mostly of work while they ate: the new byzantine cleaning standards that corporate was imposing, the new spring-themed pastries that no one was buying, and the usual rogues’ gallery of customers that all the employees hated. Cassie felt as close to relaxed as she had all day, in no small part because dinner was so good.
It was the perfect chicken parmigiana: crispy and crunchy on the outside, moist on the inside, and with just enough cheese to feel indulgent without crossing the line into greasiness. She knew it was probably so delicious because Sam had made it a billion times rather than learn to cook something else, but still, tasty was tasty.
After dinner, she sank back down onto the comfy living room couch while Sam cleaned up, amused to find that another episode of Cupcake Empire was on. The channel seemed to be having some kind of cupcake marathon. When Sam emerged from the kitchen, he set a large black mug down in front of her on the coffee table.
“What’s this?”
“Chamomile tea. I know we’ve both had enough coffee today, but a heavy meal like this goes down better with a hot drink at the end.”
She cradled the mug in her hands and smelled the steam rising out of it. She briefly had an absurd thought that maybe Sam had put some kind of love potion in it, but that was ridiculous. Why would he even need a potion? She was his familiar; if he commanded her to do anything, she couldn’t say no.
She frowned, letting the warmth from the mug soothe her nerves. She used to be a lot more concerned about being compelled to do things; she’d even had nightmares about it. But she just didn’t believe that Sam would ever force her to do anything against her will without a very good reason. The few times he had done it, it had been in the attempt to save her life. He’d never said so directly, but she got the distinct impression that he found the very idea of it distasteful. Whether that was on moral grounds, or just because he considered that particular kind of magic beneath him, she was relieved that she didn’t really have to worry about it anymore.
Much.
Still, the idea reminded her of what she and Sam were ostensibly going to do that night, which she’d done a good job of ignoring for the last hour. As she sipped her tea, her thoughts briefly settled on the time she had thought a demon was going to rape her. West coast demon lord Bennet Marcus had kidnapped her, had even had her bathed and dressed and delivered to his bedroom (in that order, fortunately) but had been entirely unprepared to commit actual violence against an underage girl. Still, at the time she had been resigned to it, less afraid than simply sad.
Was this the same? Not really. There was an obvious element of coercion, since she and Sam wouldn’t even be doing this if it weren’t for the Western Court, but it wasn’t just her; Sam didn’t want this either. If there was any violation, really it was both of them that were being violated by the court in general. But did Sam really count as a victim since, well…he was a guy getting sex? All her life, television had been telling her that men always, without fail, wanted sex, but how could it possibly be that
She shrugged again. “Just what I said. We were all a little scared of you, you know. Before we knew anything. We just didn’t know why we were scared.”
Hearing that hurt. He’d took pride in his cultivated ability to blend in, to be unremarkable. He’d thought for years that he never gave his coworkers at most jobs any inkling of what he was, but maybe he’d just been seeing what he wanted to see.
As Cassie began bolting down the chicken, a more immediately pressing thought occurred to him. “Oh wait…I forgot to make the salad,” he said, feeling foolish. “I knew I forgot something.”
“Oh, I’m so heartbroken,” Cassie deadpanned as she chewed. “This is so yummy, why ruin it with vegetables?”
Chapter Nine
They talked mostly of work while they ate: the new byzantine cleaning standards that corporate was imposing, the new spring-themed pastries that no one was buying, and the usual rogues’ gallery of customers that all the employees hated. Cassie felt as close to relaxed as she had all day, in no small part because dinner was so good.
It was the perfect chicken parmigiana: crispy and crunchy on the outside, moist on the inside, and with just enough cheese to feel indulgent without crossing the line into greasiness. She knew it was probably so delicious because Sam had made it a billion times rather than learn to cook something else, but still, tasty was tasty.
After dinner, she sank back down onto the comfy living room couch while Sam cleaned up, amused to find that another episode of Cupcake Empire was on. The channel seemed to be having some kind of cupcake marathon. When Sam emerged from the kitchen, he set a large black mug down in front of her on the coffee table.
“What’s this?”
“Chamomile tea. I know we’ve both had enough coffee today, but a heavy meal like this goes down better with a hot drink at the end.”
She cradled the mug in her hands and smelled the steam rising out of it. She briefly had an absurd thought that maybe Sam had put some kind of love potion in it, but that was ridiculous. Why would he even need a potion? She was his familiar; if he commanded her to do anything, she couldn’t say no.
She frowned, letting the warmth from the mug soothe her nerves. She used to be a lot more concerned about being compelled to do things; she’d even had nightmares about it. But she just didn’t believe that Sam would ever force her to do anything against her will without a very good reason. The few times he had done it, it had been in the attempt to save her life. He’d never said so directly, but she got the distinct impression that he found the very idea of it distasteful. Whether that was on moral grounds, or just because he considered that particular kind of magic beneath him, she was relieved that she didn’t really have to worry about it anymore.
Much.
Still, the idea reminded her of what she and Sam were ostensibly going to do that night, which she’d done a good job of ignoring for the last hour. As she sipped her tea, her thoughts briefly settled on the time she had thought a demon was going to rape her. West coast demon lord Bennet Marcus had kidnapped her, had even had her bathed and dressed and delivered to his bedroom (in that order, fortunately) but had been entirely unprepared to commit actual violence against an underage girl. Still, at the time she had been resigned to it, less afraid than simply sad.
Was this the same? Not really. There was an obvious element of coercion, since she and Sam wouldn’t even be doing this if it weren’t for the Western Court, but it wasn’t just her; Sam didn’t want this either. If there was any violation, really it was both of them that were being violated by the court in general. But did Sam really count as a victim since, well…he was a guy getting sex? All her life, television had been telling her that men always, without fail, wanted sex, but how could it possibly be that
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