Consumed » Kai Parker | Rewritten

Four

The first thing Kai Parker does after his long-awaited prison break is thwarted is make a grocery list.

"Good on eggs...should pick up some more milk..." He's mumbling to himself, while leaning over the kitchen counter and tapping his pen against a sheet of paper. "Maybe some of that apricot jam I kinda liked last time?"

He stops, glancing up at me. I'm perched in the stool across from him, with the entire marble counter as a barrier of safety between us. And the knife block within reach, for good measure. My eyes routinely flick between that and the witch's face, while I brace myself for even the slightest possibility that this act of docility would soon crumble to the force of his simmering anger.

"Wanna throw in any requests while you're staring?"

"Just...wondering how long this will last," I admit, leveling his gaze cautiously.

Exhaling, he puts the pen down and leans on his forearms, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation that says, fine, I'll bite.

"How long what will last?" His head tilts, insincere smile painted on his lips.

"This sudden preoccupation with trivial things like groceries and–and how calm you are," I say honestly, linking my fingers together. "You've held out longer than I thought, for the record, but you said it yourself. You're angry, about how all this turned out. And I'm wondering what eventually sets you off." And if I'll have enough of a warning to get myself far, far away when it happens.

"And you think watching my every move will help you in the event that I do snap?"

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared," I respond testily.

"No," he agrees, pushing himself off the counter and folding up the paper. "It doesn't. So, if you plan on keeping the local sociopath in your sights, let's go. Need to pick up a few things at the store."

I open my mouth indignantly, planning to tell him that I'd really prefer not to spend my time cramped in a car with a man whose penchant for violence was so intense that a coven deemed it fit to remove him from reality. But without further preamble, he tucks the list into his inner jacket pocket and walks out of the room.

I huff in disbelief and consider staying put. But never one to overlook the darkest outcomes, my brain teases out the image of Kai, an hour from now, throwing open the front doors with his magic–returning not only with groceries, but an urge to maim the only other person in the population. Allowing the witch prolonged time to himself in town, with empty buildings and abandoned cars a reminder of the unlikelihood that he'd ever rejoin civilization, could rapidly accrue his resentment.

The front door creaks open.

"Charlie?" Kai calls out expectantly.

"I'm coming," I grumble, getting down from the stool.

Outside, he opens the door to the passenger seat of Damon's Chevy Camaro and throws me the keys he'd nabbed from the rack indoors. I catch them with one hand in utter confusion.

"You can drive," he says, patting the top of the convertible twice. "Haven't been chauffeured in over a decade. Think I'll indulge today."

Without argument, I get in the driver's seat. I am relieved that he had no interest in driving, as I'm not sure how I'd summon any ounce of comfort in a machine steered by Kai.