"She cannot eat?" Pierre asked with a frown.
"No. She's blood bound."
Pierre's look turned from disappointed to approving.
"Bien."
"I want real food," Sofia said with a sigh. Damian hadn't returned the night before after their last interaction. She wondered again whether or not he had a harem elsewhere. That thought coupled with her nightmare made her even angrier at not being able to eat.
"Go eat," Han grumbled.
"No."
"Fine. Let him sleep. He had a rough night anyway. I know you're mad at him and thought you'd like to pester him."
"Why was his night rough?"
"He had a run-in with a whole bunch of Czerno's goons."
Concerned, Sofia turned to face him. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine. Cranky."
"Then I definitely don't want to see him," she said, eyes going to the ceiling.
He'll be too sleepy to tempt me. If he doesn't refuse me because he's tired.
He promised.
She returned her gaze to the Pop-Tarts.
"Damn you all," she muttered and closed the pantry.
"Go. Eat."
She didn't acknowledge his order but headed toward the stairs. Her daily debate about drinking blood made her pace in front of Damian's room until he wrenched the door open and stared at her, bleary-eyed and bare-chested.
"Either come in, or go think somewhere else!" he snapped.
"Good morning, sunshine!" she said with false cheerfulness.
He muttered a curse and flung his door open. She smiled, pleased to see him as pissy as she felt. It was his turn to be ticked at the world-she was sick of being alone and angry. She closed the door behind her.
"Han said you were out doing battle last night," she said, noticing the shredded T-shirt on the floor.
"This world is so fucked up I don't know why I bother." He flung himself back into bed. Irritated, Sofia pulled open the curtains to his windows overlooking the bed.
"Sofia!" he snarled, burying his head under a pillow.
"You promised," she reminded him, enjoying his misery. "The kitchen is always open."
He flung out an arm.
"I'm not going to cut you," she objected.
"Then you're not going to eat."
"Fine. Your precious Oracle will just starve to death," she snapped and started toward the door.
"Stop!"
She turned to see him pull a knife from under his pillow. He rolled onto his side.
"C'mere."
"Did you win your battle last night?" she asked as unease swept through her again.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
She waited at the edge of the bed. He sliced his forearm and tucked the knife beneath his pillow once more, closing his eyes.
"Are you going to get up?" she asked.