He tilted his head and this time, he didn’t take any step towards me. “I didn’t take you for a critic.” He turned around and took a few containers labelled with spices names and sprinkled some on the gravy.
His hands didn’t pause, still deftly moving, stirring whatever concoction he was preparing. “But you’re welcome to add anything you think is missing, ptichka. Though I might have to taste it off your fingers, to be sure.” His eyes flicked up, catching mine for a beat, and there was a heat in them that made my breath hitch.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to give him any satisfaction from my reaction. “Or maybe you could just taste it like a normal person.”
He tilted his head, considering me with that smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his ethereal yet demonic fa
