Page 38 of Sent To A Fantasy World and Now All the Men Want Me 7

“O-Onyx?” I slumped against the counter, off-balance now that he was no longer pressed against me.

Nostrils flaring, he pinned me with a look that had my insides turning to liquid fire. It was an expression that said he either wanted to tear me apart or fuck me hard. He then spun on his heels and strode toward the archway leading from the kitchen.

“Wait,” I called after him, my voice shaking from both the aftereffects of the kiss and the confusion of why that kiss happened in the first place. “You can’t just do that and leave. Tell me what’s going on.”

Onyx paused in step. “I… I wish it were different, little bird. I truly do.”

He left the kitchen without another word.

As I stared after him, watching the shadows from the corridor engulf his body and take him from my sight, I imagined the carrot being yanked away one final time, leaving the rabbit frustrated and hungry. Confused too.

What the hell just happened?

Woof.

Oreo had been curled up beside the table as Onyx and I’d talked but now padded over to investigate. Probably to cheer me up too since, like Lake, he could sense my emotions.

“Who needs carrots anyway?” I squatted down and scratched his fluffy ears. “Not when you have so many other yummy vegetables in the garden.”

The puppy cocked his head, one ear flopping.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I sighed and rose back up, looking toward the bowl of rice porridge Onyx had made for me. “There’s something special about that carrot. As frustrating and temperamental as he may be.”

Not wanting to let the food go to waste, I stepped over and ate a spoonful. My eyes watered. It tasted really good. Comforting too, like the one who’d made it put warmth and love into every sprinkle of seasoning and stir of the rice.

Onyx could be so cold and detached, but the care he had shown that night by preparing a meal with his own two hands proved that a gentle soul lied behind his icy barrier. Maybe, like the rice, he just needed some time to simmer in a pot, letting his hard edges gradually soften.

Chapter Eight

The Return to the House of Terrors

Dark purple goo bubbled in a large black cauldron nestled within a stone hearth in the corner of the clinic. Phantasia stirred the contents, then added a sprinkle of a blue powder, causing a pop of smoke.

The demon physician showed little expression beyond the occasional furrow of her brow and grim set of her mouth as she worked. Red horns protruded from her wavy brown hair, and a long black and red tail poked through a slit in the back of her floral dress, a clothing design specific to demons: male and female alike.

“Dragon’s breath?” Phantasia asked, not glancing up from the cauldron. “Two petals.”

Briar sprang into action, going over to the cabinet along the wall filled with ingredients of all sorts and searching until he found what he was looking for: a jar filled with orange and vibrant red flower petals. He stepped over to the crafting table and ground them using the mortar and pestle, then rushed over and handed them to her.

“Gratitude,” she told him before adding the crushed petals to the cauldron and stirring again. The bubbling goo reduced to a satisfying simmer. “Now, we wait for it to finish brewing.”

“Um.” I sat on a barstool near the window and scrutinized the bubbling liquid. “What exactly is that?”

“A potion for human boys who are too curious for their own good.” The female demon peered over at me, the grim line of her mouth smoothing into the faintest of smiles.

I eyed the bubbling cauldron. And gulped.

“It’s a revitalizing tonic for the warriors,” Briar explained, coming to stand beside me. He smoothed his hand along my shoulder blades and smiled. “As we know from our own group of hardworking warriors, they tend to overexert themselves during their training. This helps replenish their energy and provide them with the nutrients their bodies and minds need to maintain peak performance.”

That explained the large cauldron. Enough needed to be brewed for several units of soldiers. I cringed at the thought of drinking that slimy looking goo though.

“I think I’ll stick to coffee for my revitalizing needs,” I said with a shudder.

“Speaking of your health…” Briar smoothed away a strand of my bangs. “How do you feel? The tonic should have taken effect by now.”

Last night, I had trudged back upstairs after eating two bowls of porridge, feeling loads better, at least with my upset stomach, but had woken with a pounding ache in my skull. That pain had triggered another round of nausea. Briar had asked me to come to the clinic after breakfast for a tonic.

“I’m okay,” I answered and leaned into his touch. “No more pain.”