Free The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) by Heather Killough-Walden Page B

eyes as large and bright as the moon above. “How the hell did you do that?” A beat passed. “And, can you teach me?”

Chapter Eight
    The diner reminded Minerva of that famous painting of the café on a dark street with Marilyn Monroe and James Dean inside. She was pretty sure there was someone else in there too, though she couldn’t remember who. Her sister would know; she was the painter.
    She paused on the doorstep as Caliban filled the doorframe in front of her, his hand on the knob. He turned and glanced back at her as if sensing her hesitation, and once again, Minerva was struck with the extreme oddity of this situation. He was the Unseelie King. And he was alone with her in the middle of nowhere, leading her into a deserted café on a deserted street on a hot summer night that the desert had actually turned a little cold. He was doing these things rather than ruling, from a dark throne, a dark land filled with even darker wonders.
    And she still had to wonder why.
    Caliban opened the door, sounding the bell above the it like Christmas chimes in the strange silence. She followed him inside. He chose a table for them at the far end of the booths along the windows on one side, and she slid into the vinyl covered seat across from him. The floor to ceiling window to her right reflected the empty bar to her left, and behind that reflection, a vast and unyielding darkness awaited on the other side of the glass.
    The difference between this diner and the one in the painting was that outside of this restaurant, there were no city streets or other buildings. This diner sat alone on the side of a dirt road that was literally in the middle of a desert in what Caliban had assured her was Nevada.
    There was nothing else for miles around, and because of this, a pump with gasoline had been installed at the front of the restaurant for desperate, empty gas tanks. Maps were sold on a rotating stand by another window for the lost owners of those desperate, empty gas tanks.
    There was no one at the counter, and no one had yet responded to the sound of the bell. Though the restaurant gleamed with cleanliness, she imagined that customers were infrequent; maybe the owners weren’t keeping an ear out for the bell.
    She had never felt more isolated than she did out here, so far from the rest of humanity. It felt like the rest of the world had actually vanished. Like the yet-unscary, but sort of spooky-mysterious beginning of a Steven King novel.
    In a strange way, she really liked it. It took some of the sharpness off the razor-edge of the shock the last forty-eight hours had given her. She even felt a little relaxed. Like she could exhale.
    “I have to tell you,” Caliban said as he slid his jacket off and set it down beside him on the vinyl bench. “You are handling this transition exceptionally well.” He leaned back to drape his left arm over the top of the red sparkly seat, causing the muscles in his arm to flex against his dress shirt. “I’m actually a little surprised.”
    Minerva bit her lip and tried to suppress a smile, but failed. “You mean that you expected me to faint a whole bunch? Or maybe run around screaming and pulling out my hair?” she asked softly.
    Across from her, the Unseelie King blinked and went still in his seat. His eyes were fixed on her lips, and when she realized this, her smile slipped, becoming self-conscious.
    He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, then ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “Not in so many words.”
    Minerva followed his movements, and found her attention glued to his biceps as he unconsciously flexed them in his movements. She swallowed hard and looked down at the plastic table top. “To be honest,” she said softly, “I’m surprised too.” Yes, she’d grown used to unpleasant surprises, but the murder of her parents was one was one hell of an unpleasant surprise, and it had been topped with the galactic revelation of her being a Wisher. He was probably in his