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had been stowed there
lying on the side table.
    Logan saw me looking at the blade, but made
no comment.
    “ What time is it?” I
asked.
    “ Almost four.” At my yawn,
he added, “You sleep like the dead.”
    I nodded. It happened every time I worked
with the connections. The magic took something out of me. And it
wasn’t just that, I was starving.
    “ You need to eat,” Logan
said, though I wasn’t sure if he could read the hunger in my
expression or it was simply the knowledge that I’d worked through
lunch and slept through dinner.
    “ I can wait for
breakfast.”
    He frowned.
    “ I’m not going to wake
someone up to cook for me.”
    “ Then we won’t,” he said,
gesturing for me to follow him.
    I started for my knife and boots, and Logan
turned. “You don’t need those, Brianna. We’re only going
downstairs.”
    I flushed, leaving both to follow him through
the door. Two guards were positioned at opposite ends of the
hallway, heavily armed and perfectly alert. I took a little
hop-step to catch Logan’s stride, but lost it again when he took
the stairs two at a time.
    “ Are you in a hurry?” I
whispered toward his back as I rushed to keep up.
    He glanced over his shoulder, perplexed by my
question. “No.”
    I bit down on a grin. He must have been one
of those get-things-done people. Emily was one of those people.
    We walked into the kitchen, a massive,
open-spaced arena compared to the last place I’d cooked a meal,
complete with stainless, commercial-sized appliances. I followed
Logan into the pantry, considerable in its own right, and watched
as he rummaged through vegetables, boxes, and cans.
    “ What are you looking for?”
I asked from behind him.
    He stopped his exploration to look at me.
“Something quick.”
    I realized I was hovering, and leaned back,
picking a random can off the shelf to examine. It was caviar. They
had an entire shelf of caviar. I would have settled for a single
jar of peanut butter.
    Logan handed me an onion before gathering a
few green peppers to stack on top of the other ingredients for our
dinner. I followed him back into the kitchen where he dropped the
vegetables into the sink and started a pot to boil. He washed the
peppers and moved to set them on the counter, so I stepped out of
his way, and then shifted again when he went for a saucepan. The
third time, his brow drew down in annoyance and he took me by the
waist to move me from his path.
    I watched from my new position as he deftly
diced onion and pepper, threw them in with olive oil, added some
garlic and parsley, and neatly slid pasta into the roiling
water.
    The scent of tomato seemed amplified by the
steam and my stomach panged. Luckily, he’d plated up spaghetti and
warm bread within minutes, holding one in each hand as he gestured
for me to come along. By that point, I was so hungry I would have
followed him anywhere. He stopped just outside the kitchen, where a
small nook contained a table, two chairs, and an east facing
window.
    I sat, curling my bare feet onto the railing
beneath the chair, and used all my strength not to shovel hot pasta
into my mouth as Logan watched. After a moment, I regained myself
and swallowed. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
    The corner of Logan’s mouth rose, and
suddenly, as if only then realizing he’d been staring, he went to
work on his own plate.
    I tore off a piece of bread, finding I
couldn’t seem to stop watching him now. There was a tiny little
scar on his temple that disappeared behind dark blond hair. It must
have been fresh, probably from the battle with Morgan’s men. My
stomach turned. I pulled the chunk of bread in half, and then
again. “Do you cook often?”
    His gaze slipped to my fidgeting hands. “Only
when I need to eat.”
    I dropped the fragments onto my plate and
asked, “You don’t live at one of the houses?”
    Logan glanced over his shoulder, and back at
me. “No. I’ve stayed, occasionally, but I keep a private
residence,” he