Later, I found her again, or maybe the house did the work for me. Either way, she emerged into the hall with books tucked under her arm. My books. My library. My house had given her gifts. She blinked at me when I appeared, lazy and deliberate, strolling from a side room like I'd been waiting all along.
"What do we have here?" I purred. "Oh, look at Annie. Armed and dangerous."
She didn't slow. Just lifted the stack of books slightly in acknowledgment. My smirk widened. "Oh? You can read?"
She sighed. "I can."
I gasped, scandalized. "Really? Huh. I assumed you couldn't. You mortals couldn't for so long."
Her fingers tightened on the spines. She didn't rise to the bait. Infuriating. Perfect. I fell into step, walking backward in front of her. "So, what did my delightful house conjure for you? A tome of war? A dusty treatise on cosmic law? A steamy novella about scandalous demigods?"
She said nothing. I leaned in closer, voice dropping conspiratorial. "Maybe something truly indecent. Tell me, Annie, do you enjoy books filled with longing glances? Forbidden kisses? Pages and pages of—"
"Romantic fantasy," she cut in.
I stopped. Blinked. "…Wait. Seriously?"
"Yes."
My face split into the kind of grin usually reserved for catching Aerion making a mistake in public. "You? Reading about romance? My, my. How very unexpected."
She stopped. Turned. Looked me dead in the eye. "You do realize romance books contain conflict, strategy, and intricate social maneuvering, right?" Her brow arched. "Not that I'd expect you to understand depth."
The audacity. I reeled back like she'd smacked me with a hardback edition of Pride and Prejudice. "You insult my honor, Annie!" If only she knew just how much depth I have. I am not a kiddie pool. I am deep end of the pool depth. She just turned and walked away. And I, me, Malvor, God of Mischief, stood there, stunned into silence for half a breath.
Then I whispered, with reverent delight,"…She likes books."
I fell back into step beside her, grin carved onto my face like it had been sculpted by angels who knew mischief was an art form. "Oh, don't walk away, Annie Doll. This is far too entertaining."
"You're impossible."
"And yet—" I spread my arms wide, walking backward with effortless grace, "—here I am. Very real." I tilted my head, sly. "Tell me, do you have a favorite romantic fantasy? Perhaps one with a roguish, impossibly handsome male lead?"
She sighed through her nose. "You want me to say a character like you, don't you?"
I beamed. "It would make my day."
Silence. Which was, of course, an answer. And oh, I lived for the chase. She quickened her pace, clearly intent on escaping to some corner of my house she hadn't yet discovered. Admirable. Futile. I matched her step for step, lazy as a shadow. If I were a character in one of her books, she'd have hurled me across the room by now. Delicious thought. So, naturally, I bumped into her. Not hard. Just enough. Purposeful. Ignored.
I gasped, staggering back. "Rude! You hurt my heart, Annie Doll."
Nothing. Which, in my book, is encouragement. I heaved a tragic sigh, casting my eyes skyward, voice dripping with mock sorrow. "Once, long ago, a great and powerful god saw a woman of unparalleled beauty and wit. He was instantly captivated."
She sank into an armchair, cracking open a book like I wasn't the performance of the century right in front of her.
Undeterred, I circled. "And so this god, knowing she was far too worthy for ordinary gestures, stole the stars themselves! Reshaped the heavens! Etched her name into constellations!"
Page turned. No words read.
I threw out an arm, nearly knocking over a floating lamp. "But our clever heroine, unyielding as she was, demanded more! A realm built in her honor, oceans whispering her name, winds singing his eternal devotion—"
She snorted. I stopped. Froze. Eyes wide. Then, like thunder splitting the sky, it happened. She continued to pretend to read for a moment then she laughed. Just once. Sharp. Uncontrolled. A burst she hadn't meant to let out. And by every chaos-born law of the universe, it hit me like revelation. I stared. Devoured it. That sound. That sound was better than any victory I'd ever claimed. I didn't care if it was at me or her book. It had happened! And then it was gone. Her lips pressed together. Fighting composure. Damn it all. That laugh was mine now.
She looked up, catching me staring like an idiot. "What?"
I blinked. Then the smirk returned, reborn and sharper. "Oh, nothing, Annie." I flopped onto the couch across from her, arm draped over the backrest, grin glittering. "I was just thinking…"
She sighed. "That's never a good sign."
"I quite like that sound."
She stiffened. Just a flicker. Barely. But I saw it. I leaned in, chin resting on my fist, eyes bright as gold. "I think I'll have to make you laugh more often."
She glared over her book. "I hate you."
My grin bloomed wider. "Ahhh. Music to my ears."
This was it. The first real crack. She'd been cold marble for days, Unimpressed, unbothered, untouchable. But now? Now she'd laughed. I never let a victory go uncelebrated. I gasped, clutching my chest. "Oh, Annie Snookums, you have the best laugh."
Her expression dropped flat enough to pave roads. She shut her book with aching slowness."…Snookums?"
I nodded, glowing. "It suits you, doesn't it?"
"No."
"But it does," I pressed, grinning like a devil. "It softens you. Makes you approachable."
My smirk sharpened. "You wouldn't want to seem cold and intimidating, would you?"
She inhaled through her nose. And then, oh, gods. She smiled. Not a real smile. No. This one was sharpened, weaponized. A smile that promised war. The mortal customer service smile. "Of course not, Mallykins."
I froze. "…What?"
She blinked sweetly. "Something wrong?"
"Did you just—"
"Would you like some tea, Mally Boo?" she cooed. "Or perhaps a cozy blanket? You must be so tired after all that hard work… annoying me."
I stared, stunned. My own trick, turned back on me. She opened her book again, casual as anything. "That's what I thought."
I groaned, flopping against the couch cushions like a man defeated. "Annie. That's awful."
"Good."
I glared. She smirked. Somewhere between insult and affection, realization dawned like a guillotine. I was in so. much. trouble.
She read. She read with the kind of focus that should've come with a trophy and worldwide applause. And she tuned me out so completely it was offensive. Naturally, I took this as a declaration of war. I started small. A sigh here. A dramatic stretch there. I draped myself across the couch like a man drowning in existential misery, shifting, groaning, waiting for her to notice. Nothing. I scooted closer. Still nothing. So I escalated.
"Annie, my sweetest muffin cake," I purred, voice dripping with mock affection. "You're breaking my poor little heart by ignoring me like this."
She turned a page.
I pouted, tugging on my cuff so the light caught my watch. Perfectly tailored, perfectly positioned, perfectly wasted on her. I leaned on the arm of her chair, close enough to be impossible to ignore. "Annie darling," I sighed, twirling a curl of her hair around my finger.
She stilled for half a second. Ah. Got her. Then she tucked it back in place and kept reading.
I gasped. "Rude! What does a god have to do to get a little attention around here? I could literally rewire the fabric of existence, and you'd still sit there flipping pages like I don't exist."
Silence. Fine. If antics wouldn't work, maybe intrigue would. I straightened, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my suit. "It was a night unlike any other," I began, voice deepening into bardic majesty. "The stars aligned, foretelling peril and glory. And I, great, powerful, breathtakingly handsome Malvor, stood before a trial that would shake the cosmos—" Another page turned. I narrowed my eyes. "—A baking contest."
Nothing.
"The fate of existence rested on my ability to craft a divine soufflé. Egg whites! Flour! The unbearable agony of waiting for it to rise—"
Another page turned. I glared. "This is war now."
Finally, she looked up. "Malvor, is there something you want me to do?"
Yes. Pay attention to me. Break for me. Give me something real. I tilted my head, studying her. "Maybe. Depends."
I want to see that wall break! Cold. Detached. Not even pretending to care. Gods above, she was infuriating.
"So, Annie, my precious Annie, tell me about yourself?"
She turned another page. Didn't even look up.
"What do you want to know?"
This. Damn. Woman. Wouldn't even pretend to make an effort. Not even a hint of curiosity! UGH. If she was going to give me nothing, then I would start small. Something simple. Something she had no reason not to answer.
"Fine. What's your favorite food?"
That stopped her. Her finger slid between the pages to mark her place. Then, glorious mercy, she looked at me. Direct. Unblinking. Undivided attention.
Somewhere, choirs of angels sang.
I fought hard not to look too eager.
"I'm not picky," she said evenly. "But I love dessert. I go through phases of what food I like best."
Dessert. Sweetness. Of course.
My grin curled slow and dangerous. "Dessert, hmm? Then I've no choice but to test your phase."
"Malvor—"
Too late. I snapped my fingers, and the table exploded into decadence. Cakes, pastries, puddings, soufflés, tarts, chocolates. Some mortal, some inventions of chaos itself. The air thickened with vanilla, cinnamon, sugar melting into temptation.
She blinked. Stared. Then looked at me, unimpressed. "That was unnecessary."
"Ah, but was it, Annie sugarplum? Or are you just afraid I might actually impress you?"
Her eyes leveled on me. Silent. Brutal. She picked up a fork, took a perfect bite of cake, chewed, swallowed... and turned a page!!!
"That's it?!" I demanded.
"It's good." Her deadpan look could deflate a soufflé. I dragged a hand down my face. This woman was going to kill me.
She finished her cake, wiped her fingers, and stood. Without a word, she collected more sweets, chocolates, another sliver of cake, a fruit cream, a tart, and returned to her seat as if she were simply fueling for battle. I watched, chin propped on my hand, utterly rapt. This was art. Performance. A mortal eating pastries had never been so fascinating. And of course, I narrated.
"Ah, Annie darling," I sighed, painting the air with grand gestures, "I see you're enjoying the fruits of my labor. Quite literally, in fact. Those chocolates? Straight from my world. Rolling cocoa hills, rivers of molten caramel, mountains of spun sugar-"
Page turn.
"-I toiled endlessly, harvesting each bean by hand, sweat glistening on my sculpted form-"
Bite of chocolate.
"-Salted the caramel rivers with my tears, stained the sugar plains with my blood-"
Sip of water.
"-And the people cried out, 'Oh Malvor, mighty one, rest!' But no, I said, 'Not until my Annie sweetpea has dessert!'"
She finished her tart. Then, blessed chaos, she picked a glowing purple gelatinous thing that pulsed faintly on the plate. I grinned. "Brave."
She ignored me. Fork lifted. Bite taken. And then she moaned. I stopped speaking. No. I stopped existing. My brain short-circuited. My body glitched. My soul flatlined. That sound, pure, thoughtless, unguarded enjoyment, wrecked me. What in the flames of chaos was THAT?!
She chewed, swallowed, perfectly calm. "Hmm. That's really good."
I had to physically reboot myself. Sat up straight, gripped my knee like it was the last anchor to reality. "I, I know," I stammered. "Obviously. Intentional."
She took another bite. Blue eyes on her book. Utterly oblivious.
"Annie!" I sputtered, hands flailing. "What in all the flaming hells was that noise?"
She turned a page. Shrugged. She SHRUGGED.
"Bloody hells, woman!" I all but shouted, gesturing wildly. "That damn noise you made!"
She finally looked up, meeting my gaze with those impossibly blue eyes. Calm. Detached.
"What noise?"
I gawked at her. "Oh, oh, oh, Annie, my Little Orphan Annie," I drawled, voice dripping with melodrama, "going to play coy now?"
She shrugged again.
INFURIATING. WOMAN.
My hands clenched into fists. My jaw ticked. My entire divine being vibrated with unprocessed frustration. Then, I growled, growled, actually growled, before snapping upright to smooth my suit, praying dignity might crawl back onto my shoulders. She blinked, lips twitching. Enjoying herself.
I inhaled through my nose, recalibrating his entire existence.
I am a god. A GOD. A chaos god! I have unraveled empires, caused celestial wars, shaped reality itself with nothing but a whim! And yet. This woman. This entirely mortal woman. Had just shrugged me into a meltdown. No. This was not over. I took a slow, steady breath, smoothing my hands down the lapels of my perfectly tailored suit. Regain composure. Maintain dignity. Be the bigger deity. Once I felt sufficiently less feral, I exhale, forcing myself into a relaxed, lazy sprawl across the couch. "Annie spice cake, what are you reading?"
Without looking, she lifted the cover. Callista Wildfire. Oh, the delicious irony. My grin widened until it nearly cracked my face. "Ahhh, Callista Wildfire. Such… emotionally intelligent heroes, yes? Do they brood endlessly or confess their feelings in soliloquies?"
She smirked. "Callista writes strong women. The men understand emotions. Unlike someone I know. The spice level? Chef's kiss. Exactly how I like it."
Ouch. Delightful ouch. I gasped theatrically, lounging further. "Funny thing, Annie. I've read a Callista Wildfire novel or two. In fact…" I snapped my fingers. The book dissolved into my hand, flipped open of its own accord, pages riffling until they stopped at the back. The author photo. Callista Wildfire herself, smiling, ethereal, perfect. Before her eyes, the picture shimmered. Melted. Reformed... Me.
Her gaze shot to my face. Back to the page. Back again. "You-"
I grinned, smug and radiant. "Yes. I am Callista Wildfire. Writer of broody men and strong women. Before you ask, yes, I am also her top three biggest fans. And her number one critic. Brutal, but fair."
She stared for a heartbeat too long, then broke. Laughter spilled out of her, hard and bright, tipping her head back, shoulders shaking, the sound ringing through the room like victory bells. Chaos, it was perfect. The sound lit every corner of me I didn't know needed light. I basked shamelessly, tapping the book against my knee. "Ahhh, there it is. My favorite review."
She wiped at her eye, still breathless. "You're insufferable."
"And yet…" I waggled my brows, "you're still here."
She rolled her eyes, trying, and failing, to hide her smile as she picked the book back up. But I knew. Gods, I knew she was still smiling. And I? I was ruined.