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 appreciates his cooking.
Between bites, she lets out accompanying moans of delight that make the dinner lively, their banter filling the room. I'm grateful for the noise; I'm far too knotted up wondering why Tavric won't speak to really engage in the squabble between the two of them.
I probably should have warned Amara that Jaxl being a werewolf makes the certainty of a mate a very real, very heavy thing, but I feel like my friend can take care of herself.
Besides, she must know enough about our kind if she can teleport comfortably with two high-ranking wolves in tow.
"You are not saying anything, Lu… the food not up to your taste?"
I glance at Jaxl sheepishly, aware of the curiosity burning in his eyes. He is just as calm and unreadable as Tavric, but there's a flicker of concern there.
