Page 60 of Of Sins and Psychos

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“I didn’t know what you liked, but chicken noodle soup is Chef Cecelia’s specialty.”

Have I fallen into another psychotic realm? Is this shit actually happening right now? Who the fuck is this guy, and what has he done with the asshole I was just getting used to?

A fresh white napkin is laid to the right of the bowl of wafting, hot soup. The perfectly cut slices of buttered bread are set nearly atop the napkin.

And then he steps back as if to unveil it all for me.

“Um—” Do I eat it and face sudden poisonous death... or do I really have the impolite balls to turn down all this? “It smells delicious,” I whisper before taking the seat he has pulled out for me.

Christ! This is how people pleasers die: It would be rude to say no to poisoned soup.

But the thing is, if Synder wanted to kill me, he could have. Sev-er-al times. He murdered a man in cold blood right in front of me. He has never actually tried to kill me. He has just tried to get me to leave.

Hot noodles slide over my lips, and I audibly moan. My eyes close as I take another big bite. Chef Cecilia is a Goddess!

My lashes open slowly, and those galaxy eyes of his are watching me intently. It isn’t a glare for once. It’s a look of curiosity. Interest.

Things are definitely weird between us now. It isn’t fucking that changed things between us. It’s the other f word: friendship.

“You’ve mentioned the other kingdoms a lot.” I pry the best I can without flat-out asking if he’s a double agent spy for both Leavon and the Fae.

He hums a noncommittal reply before turning his back on me and opening the white box on the tangled blankets of his bed. He’s as good at avoiding me as he is at stalking me.

Definitely a spy.

“The golden tattoo on your arm, what does it mean?” I try instead.

“It’s the symbol of the Brotherhood.” He’s quick to answer that one, and so I carry on with that topic.

“Every member of the Brotherhood has one?”

“It’s an honorary ruin the King of Carnal has marred his Brothers with for centuries. Nothing is thicker than blood. Except magic.”

I consider the identical ruin Malace has. I know I’ve seen it on him.

He was a member of the Brotherhood...

Where is Ruiner’s tattoo?

Before I’ve had time to lick my bowl clean, Synder pushes aside the last layer of tissue paper and pulls out a long, sweeping gown. He turns with the shimmering, lacey dress in hand, revealing it to me the same way he did the soup.

At some point, I’m going to have to stop gaping at this bizarre imposter and just accept him as Synder 2.0. He’s much better than the previous edition. This one comes with an actual personality.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask bluntly instead of people pleasing my ass over to him with a mouth full of thank-yous.

Extravagant gowns are apparently the limit for my people-pleasing trust.

“You’ll need a gown for tonight to blend in. Leavon will spot you instantly if you stride in there with your tits bouncing around a shirt that he personally tore off of you.

Ahhh, there the old Synder is. To think I was starting to miss him.

I swallow down my snarky reply and force my tense lips to say the words. “Thank. You.”

Yep. Don’t like that. Not one bit. Feels fucking unnatural to thank this asshole.

He walks into the light of the fire, and tiny gemstones gleam around the thin emerald lace of the sleeves and neckline. The material changes there into a simpler fabric that hugs across the chest and flares out dramatically at the hips.

“It’s beautiful,” I admit on a hushed tone.


Tags: A.K. Koonce Paranormal