The Morning After
Evelyn stared at the plate in front of her, a small smile playing at her lips. It was piled high with thick slabs of roasted at, eggs, and fresh fruit—enough food to feed four people.
"I see that you’re feeling extra generous today," she teased, glancing at Valerian over the rim of her goblet.
The once-drunken hunter was now sober, his usual composed and unreadable self was back. His dark hair was slightly tousled from sleep, and his sharp features were set in that sa brooding expression he always wore. He looked at her, eyes dark with sothing unreadable, before quickly looking away.
Evelyn nearly laughed. He was trying so hard to act as if nothing had happened, but the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he held his fork just a little too tightly, told a different story.
She decided to push him a little further.
"What happened last night—"
"—Was entirely consensual," Evelyn interjected smoothly, setting down her goblet with a soft clink. "You needed an outlet for your anger and disappointnt, and I needed to release years of pent-up frustration."
She tilted her head, watching his reaction. "So, yeah. What happened wasn’t an accident, but it doesn’t an anything either. We were just two lonely creatures in need."
Valerian’s frown deepened, his grip on his knife tightening as he sliced through his food with unnecessary force.
"You know what? Just eat your al," he muttered, pushing a fresh loaf of bread toward her.
Was he annoyed?
He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be annoyed at her lack of care of what happened last night.
Valerian expected her to show so hesitation, to awkwardly dance around what had happened between them, or perhaps even regret it. But Evelyn sat there, perfectly at ease, casually sipping from her goblet as if last night was nothing more than an ordinary event.
She wasn’t looking at him—but he was looking at her.
His gaze was sharp, almost too intense, tracing the delicate curve of her face, the way her lashes cast faint shadows against her cheeks. Had they always been that long and thick? Had her eyes always held that strange glow, that depth of color that seed to shift like silver and crystals?
Sothing was different about her.
His brows furrowed as he studied her, a strange sensation creeping up his spine. It wasn’t just in her eyes—it was in her skin, her aura. A faint, almost imperceptible shimr surrounded her, as though the remnants of last night’s magic still clung to her flesh.
Wait.
No.
He was seeing things.
Even worse—he was seeing sparkles around her.
Valerian blinked, then blinked again, but the strange shimr didn’t fade. The soft glow clung to her skin like morning dew catching the first rays of sunlight, making her seem almost ethereal. It was subtle, but it was there.
What the hell was happening to him?
He clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the table as if grounding himself would sohow banish the strange visions. But it wasn’t just his sight that felt off—his entire body felt . . . different. Heightened. As if his senses had been dialed up to an unnatural degree.
The sound of Evelyn’s breath, the rustle of fabric as she shifted in her chair, the faint scent of lavender and sothing minty clinging to her skin—he was aware of all of it in a way he never had been before.
Sothing had changed.
And he had a sinking feeling it had everything to do with last night.
"What?" Evelyn’s voice pulled him out of his trance.
He flicked his gaze back to her, clearing his throat as he adjusted his glasses—an unconscious habit when he was unsettled. He needed to look away, to pull his attention elsewhere, but he couldn’t.
Evelyn noticed.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Are you going to keep staring at all morning, Valerian?" she teased, tilting her head. "Or are you just realizing how stunning I truly am?"
His jaw tightened. He forced himself to scoff, shifting his gaze to his plate. "Don’t flatter yourself."
Evelyn laughed, the sound rich and taunting. But underneath his irritation, underneath the strange tension coiling between them, one thought remained.
What the hell was happening to him now?
"You don’t have to eat so fast," he said gruffly. "If you want seconds, I’ll have the chefs prepare more for you."
Evelyn arched a brow, a slow, teasing smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Now this is unexpected. I think I’m beginning to feel awkward with how nice you’ve suddenly beco." She leaned forward, voice dropping into a whisper. "Do I have to sleep with you every night for you to be this sweet to ? Because honestly . . ." She let her gaze flicker over him, deliberate and slow, before smirking. "I’m rather unsatisfied with last night. You were so drunk you dozed off after just one round."
Valerian’s entire body stiffened. His ears burned red as he shot a quick glance around the room, making sure no one overheard her.
"Will you keep your voice down?" he hissed, his usually deep and controlled tone edged with embarrassnt.
Evelyn laughed, pleased with his reaction. "Why? Afraid that the great Valerian Cross, leader of the organization that kills creatures of the night, had sex with a witch?"
She propped her chin on her hand, her smile mischievous. "Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret."
Valerian should’ve let it roll off his back. Should’ve scoffed and dismissed it, acted like he didn’t care.
Because it shouldn’t be a big deal.
It wasn’t a big deal for her.
And yet, for so reason, the casual way she spoke about it, the way she reduced what happened between them to nothing more than a mutual need, made sothing dark coil inside him.
Irritation.
No—sothing else.
Sothing he refused to na.
His grip tightened on his fork, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to look away.
Evelyn noticed of course, and everything was going according to plan.
Her smile widened. "Aw," she cooed mockingly. "Is the great Valerian Cross bothered sleeping with a witch?"
His eyes snapped back to hers. "I’m not bothered by anything."
Evelyn humd, taking another bite of her food, looking far too pleased with herself.
Valerian scowled.
She was infuriating.
He should be relieved that she didn’t expect anything from him. That she wasn’t going to be another complication in his already complicated existence.
So why did it bother him so damn much?
And why, when she looked at him like that—like she knew exactly how to get under his skin—did he feel the overwhelming urge to shut her up the sa way he did last night?
With his mouth.
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