Spellbound by Marcus Atley Read Free Book Online

through the cambion’s cabinets and fridge, frowning at the low selection and the way he kept getting jerked back.
    Within an hour he had a suitable meal ready to be served. He ate his food quietly while his partner ignored his own.
    “Should I get you something else?” he asked quietly. Stavros glanced up, his brow furrowed in confusion. He glanced between Elion and the plate beside him before he dropped the file and sighed.
    “Thank you,” Stavros said as he brought his spoon to his mouth.
    Elion’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened slightly. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, awed.
    This Stavros was the polar opposite of the Stavros he had known for weeks. This Stavros was almost docile. It was concerning and slightly frightening. Elion was still waiting for Stavros to finish the job that he had wanted to earlier. By morning Mikhail would find his head in a box on his desk and his limbs scattered throughout the realms. But the threats never came. Stavros simply finished his meal, set the empty dish beside him, and went back to work.
    “Stavros, I’m sorry,” Elion finally blurted. “I don’t know how I could have mixed it up. Those files weren’t even together. I feel horrible.” Rather than meeting the gaze he felt on him, he stared at his knees waiting for the yelling to start.
    A file landed at his feet and he looked up. “Then help me build a stronger case and get the bastard back in custody.”
    Elion’s mouth opened only to snap shut as he nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly.
    An occasional sigh, grunt or yawn would occupy the silence, but neither man spoke as they read. Elion felt his eyelids growing heavier until he startled himself awake. He set his file on the coffee table and rubbed his aching eyes.
    Stavros was still buried in his paperwork. His features were intense and focused, but he looked so… non-threatening. His jaw would tick every once in a while or his tongue would dart across his bottom lip. The muscle in his forearm would contract as he turned pages, and Elion found himself staring a little too intently. He watched a large hand brush back the ebony hair that had been released from its tie. Occasionally, a pin straight strand of hair would fall across Stavros’ proud cheek and make him huff quietly.
    After watching for too long to be appropriate, Elion found himself closing the small distance between them. Stavros tensed. His mossy eyes glanced up suspiciously as Elion knelt behind him.
    “Can I?” he asked, loosely gathering Stavros’ hair in his fingers. Stavros gave him the barest of nods and Elion smiled. His nimble fingers quickly braided Stavros’ hair, lingering for a second before he pulled away. “There, now it won’t give you a headache.”
    Stavros reached back, running his fingers down the simple braid. He gave a small nod to Elion, but the elf swore that, maybe, for a split second, there was a flash of a blush on the other man’s cheeks.
    He shifted back to the couch, giving Stavros a final glance before retrieving the report he had been reading. Despite Stavros making lower ranked officers do his crap work with criminals, he actually kept meticulous files. Then again, he had to. His cases were normally serious and a simple slip up could be the difference between justice and a murderer walking. Elion held back a self-deprecating groan and rubbed his eyes.
    “Can I ask you something?” Elion asked. Stavros glanced up from his file with a dull grunt. “You called Mikhail Misha…”
    “That wasn’t a question,” Stavros said pointedly. “Misha is a diminutive.”
    Elion stared blankly. Stavros rolled his eyes. “A nickname, Elion. Misha is a Russian nickname for Mikhail.”
    “Oh,” Elion breathed sheepishly. “You two are close?”
    “He’s my father,” Stavros said, dropping his paper onto the floor and pushing himself up. His long, toned arms stretched above his head and revealed a section of olive flesh and defined muscle under his shirt. Elion forced