Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

31. Tone

"You look tired."

"What else is new?" I remarked as I stepped through the threshold into the ornate foyer.

Stolas frowned, leaning on his tall cane. The blue leather-bound book I had retrieved from Wrath floated at eye-level just behind him. "Would you like to reschedule for another day? I can take you home."

I shook my head. "No, it's fine," I said. "I'm always like this, now that I work nights. My sleep schedule is virtually nonexistent." I grinned. "Besides, the rest of my week is pretty much booked."

"Oh, really?" he said, resting a hand on his hip. "With you-know-who, I presume?"

"That's very forward of you to ask," I teased, imitating his accent. "But yes, with you-know-who."

"I knew it," he said with a smirk. He turned and signaled for me to follow him.

"A lucky guess," I deadpanned, stepping beside him.

A knowing smile crossed his face. "If I didn't know any better, I would say he seems to be all you think about lately," he mused playfully.

"And if I wasn't such a nice person, I'd snatch that cane right out from under you," I quipped.

He laughed in amusement. "Oh, just try it, my dear. You would be petrified before you could even grab hold of it."

"You wouldn't."

His laugh softened to a low chuckle. "No," he said. "I wouldn't."

Although much better, Stolas still had a bit of a limp in his right leg where he'd been stabbed, and he leaned on his cane whenever he shifted his weight onto the affected foot. I'd also noticed that he still had some significant weakness in his left arm from the extensive wound in his shoulder, despite the many weeks of physical therapy.

I scowled at my observation, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of garbage being would torture such a kind, intelligent man. I couldn't see Stolas hurting a fly — he would quite possibly attack in defense of himself or others, but definitely not unprovoked. The thought of someone stabbing him repeatedly and senselessly beating him within an inch of his life made my skin crawl.

A small imp butler in a three-piece suit opened an indigo stained-glass door and ushered us outside. We stepped out onto the large balcony overlooking the courtyard where Stolas' garden grew. Engraved into the sun-bleached mortar beneath our feet was Stolas' sigil, its outline stretching to the far sides of the balcony; its pale glow was prominent even in the broad daylight. We took a seat at the table near the edge of the balcony, where there was already a fresh pot of tea set out for us.

"Octavia should be joining us shortly," Stolas said, dumping a few spoonfuls of sugar into his cup of tea. He willed his grimoire to plop onto the tabletop beside his saucer. "Would you like some pastries while we wait?"

"Sure," I answered almost immediately. "I'm always up for sweets."

He snickered and made a small gesture to the butler. The butler turned sharply on his heel and walked briskly back inside, returning a few minutes later with a tray of assorted pastries and cakes. I thanked him as he set the tray on the table, and he blinked at me in surprise before stepping away from us.

Stolas clasped his hands together and leaned forward over the table. "So, before we begin our lesson, I must know more about this you-know-who. What does he look like? Is he good-looking?"

I swallowed a sip, the hot tea warming my throat and stomach. My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip as I thought. "Well, he's. . ." A coy smile tugged at my lips. "Yeah, he's pretty hot."