LUCY
Jaxl clearly doesn't enjoy being called Pretty Boy by Amara, but he seems to accept the title with a scowl that dangerously borders on a smile every time she compliments his cooking.
Between bites, she lets out accompanying moans of appreciation that make the dinner lively, their banter filling the room with a warmth I find myself grateful for.
I'm far too knotted up wondering why Tavric won't speak to properly engage in their squabble. I'm here in body and barely in spirit, pushing food around my plate and trying to look like someone who has their thoughts under reasonable control.
I probably should warn Amara that Jaxl being a werewolf makes the possibility of a mate bond a very real, very complicated thing… but I decide against it. My friend can take care of herself. She must know enough about our kind already, given that she teleported comfortably alongside two high-ranking wolves without breaking a sweat.
"You're not saying anything, Lu… food not to your taste?"
