Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 42

Aurora's POV

One stair at a time.

Two.

Three

Four.

Maybe two, actually.

Six.

Eight.

Ten.

Twelve.

I let out a deep breath as wet hair stuck to my back through a white t-shirt I'd found in the guest room's dresser. Now that the dreadful shower had been taken care of... my stomach let out a loud rumble. I quickly whipped my neck down both halls on either side of me, grateful to see them empty. 

Sunshine beamed through grey curtains, warming the marble floors as I tread across them and into the kitchen with my arms stuck to my sides. And, like I'd known, not one sign of him remained anywhere in sight. One night, and he still didn't feel like facing me. 

Except.. I leaned over the kitchen island, spotting at a small, black burner phone. My phone. Shit. I don't even remember the last time I had it. 

I switched it on, glancing around me but still seeing nothing but dust bunnies floating through sun rays. An array of past messages sent by one number appeared when I clicked on the outdated-looking green app.

Out for work, I'll be back in a few hours.

The second text was sent a hesitant two minutes later.

There's breakfast in the dining room if you want it.

Breakfast. That sounds good.

I gripped the phone, about to walk back down the hall, when a nasty, burnt smell permeated the air. What the heck was that? I turned, glancing at the row of drawers. I opened empty ones, some holding unnecessary cutlery, and then, jackpot. The compost bin.

My nose scrunched up as I stared down into it. There were about five burnt looking- were those pancakes? No, wait. Too thin. I tried to get a better look without basically shoving my face into it. 

Crepes.

And then it hit me. 

He made me breakfast. 

The dishwasher's machinery hummed, another set of proof.

My stomach grumbled in approval. 

I quickly padded through the halls, immediately opening the set of two grand double-doors that gave way into a gigantic, ball-room escapade of a dining room. A chair lay there, pulled out and ready for me, with a colorful plate of what looked like Mikhail's one successful attempt at cooking.

I bit back a smile as I stared down at the set table, just for one. 

Fork's supposed to be on the left, you idiot. 

I shook my head and sat down, laying a hand under my chin as I stared at the plate of strawberry crepes. 

My favorite.

I regretted the thought as soon as I took a bite.

Was that.. salt instead of sugar? 

I bit into a strawberry to cover up the soggy texture. I mean, given the circumstances, I would've half expected him to leave without giving me a knock hello. And yet here he was, acting like a gentleman as if he hadn't just seen me shoot a man seven times last night.