Dark Possession - Aja James Page 0,27
here on out.
Eveline sighed, wiped her hands, and tried to refocus on boring, implacable logic. She had work to do.
The dessert was for sharing. She’d read in a Southern etiquette book once (she read everything she could get her hands on) that good neighbors brought each other baked goods. It was a great way to socialize and get to know each other. So, she decided that she’d try this approach with her neighbors in the Cove, starting with the lovely Clara Scott.
“Eveline, you shouldn’t have!” the human woman exclaimed when she opened the door to her apartment.
“But I won’t complain. That pie looks scrumptious!”
“It’s a tart,” Eveline couldn’t help but clarify.
“It’s rather large to be a tart,” Clara noted.
“A pie or a tart is not defined by size,” Eveline intoned. “A pie is a sweet or savory dish with a crust and a filling. A tart is the same but with shallow sides and only a bottom crust. Tart crusts are usually made from pastry dough. I made my own using flour, butter, cold water, and a pinch of sugar.”
“Well that’s…enlightening,” Clara murmured, her eyes rounding at Eveline’s impromptu lecture.
She couldn’t help it. She loved to acquire all kinds of knowledge and share it as well, with anyone who’d listen. Given that she had a captive audience, Eveline went on.
“Not to be confused with a cobbler. A cobbler is a freeform dessert consisting of a fruit base and a slightly sweet biscuit topping. The biscuit dough is usually spread over the top of the fruit to create a layer of crust in a baking dish. I can make one of those next time. Maybe with rhubarb.”
“Gracious,” Clara exclaimed, “I’m just tickled pink you’re sharing this one with me. Do please come inside.”
Eveline finally stepped across the threshold as Clara slid the door all the way open.
A dangerous looking male dressed head to toe in black sat upon a large couch facing the entryway, while a little girl who looked just like Clara (albeit smaller) knelt at his feet coloring on a large piece of paper on the coffee table.
“Oh. Am I intruding?”
“Not at all,” Clara assured her. “Let me introduce you.”
She ushered Eveline to the middle of the apartment as the black-robed male smoothly rose to his feet.
Eveline tilted her head to look up at him.
The male reminded her of someone, with that shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, and tall, leanly muscular figure. But she was quite certain she’d never met him before. She’d remember him if she had.
He was stupidly beautiful.
He was the type of male who sent Eveline scurrying to hide with one look. She never felt comfortable around extremely good-looking males. It was like staring unblinkingly into a noonday sun. She always felt disoriented from heat-stroke and temporary blindness.
It had taken her years to get used to being around the males of the Dozen. The fact that they were her comrades helped a lot. She could view them as sisters and brothers. However, males who looked like this one did, who were of no relation to her, she’d rather avoid if she could help it.
But strangely, since laying eyes on the Dark King, she could gaze upon this fine specimen of male beauty without the usual negative repercussions. It’s like Ramses had inoculated her against all other males.
Eveline huffed internally.
As if.
More like the Dark King desensitized her irises after shocking her blind with his gigantic phallus. It wasn’t like she could see much else with foot-long Bratwursts spurting milk dancing like stars before her eyes.
Disturbed. Eveline was deeply disturbed.
And very perturbed at being disturbed.
“This is my husband, Eli,” Clara introduced. “Eli, this is our new neighbor, Eveline.”
The gorgeous male inclined his head in greeting.
Oh good. He was a silent one.
Eveline liked the silent ones. They weren’t usually Romeos when they didn’t deign to speak.
She gracefully inclined her own head, not offering a palm to shake in the human gesture, since she still clutched the giant tart with both hands.
“And this is our daughter, Annie.”
“Hi, Eveline!” the little girl chirped.
“Hello,” Eveline replied, smiling.
“Be still my heart, is that fresh-baked apple tart I smell?”
An impeccably dressed blond god leaned casually against the still open door frame, and a brown-haired, quirky-looking woman stood next to him.
Quirky, Eveline thought, because the woman had over-large eyes framed by the most extravagant eyelashes she’d ever seen on a person. They reminded Eveline of the legs of centipedes. Her lips were noticeably wide and full; bee-stung was the word. Those features alone took up