He lit a candle, and it cast a wavering light over the countertop.

Her stomach grumbled, and she wasn’t going to argue with that declaration. “You said you didn’t know how to cook.”

“I lied.” He pulled a bowl of eggs and another of ricotta from the refrigerator.

At the sight of actual human food, her stomach rumbled. “What are you making?”

He cracked an egg into a bowl. “Something you may remember from Maremount. Or not, in all likelihood.”

She straightened, suddenly alert. “I don’t remember the food. The one thing I remember clearly is your eyes.”

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering in the air, clutching an egg. “You remember me? Are you sure?”

“I remember a boy with eyes your color. They’re quite memorable.” Her gaze roamed over his muscular arms, and an uncomfortable thought twisted in her gut. “You promise you weren’t my stepbrother?”

He worked the eggs and ricotta into a batter. “Would it bother you if I was your stepbrother?”

He loves making me uncomfortable. “You know it would be weird. I mean, after I healed you.”

He opened a metal canister, scooping out a measure of corn flour into the batter. “You can calm your fluttering heart. I’m not your stepbrother. The few remaining incubi are enslaved in Maremount. All the succubi have been killed. In fact, the entire city is built around the Lilitu fountain, where the last remaining succubus was killed. Her petrified head spews the town’s drinking water. A few incubi were kept around for the pleasure we provide. You and I were not of equal standing in the Atherton household.”

“Atherton.” It struck her suddenly that she hadn’t ever known her own birth name. “Rosalind Atherton.”

“Lady Rosalind Atherton. It has a nice, noble ring to it.”

“And you were some kind of slave? I don’t remember a boy in chains.” That didn’t suit his imperious nature at all, though neither did the fact he was cooking her breakfast. She watched as he pulled out a steel skillet, turning on the burner to melt a hefty dollop of butter. “How could they keep you enslaved?” He was far stronger than any human.

He shot her a perplexed look. “Magic. I wore an iron collar, charmed by a powerful sorcerer. Your father.” He salted the batter before pouring a thin layer into the hot pan.

Her stomach turned. Every new tidbit she learned about her parents only made her dislike them more, but she was still desperate for more information. This was the first conversation with Caine where he was actually willing to divulge information. Still, she knew if she pushed too far, he’d shut down. “If you’re half-incubus, does that mean your father was a full incubus? Did you know him?” she asked. Shit. That was probably too personal.

The look he shot her iced her veins. “Just because I’m making you food and teaching you magic doesn’t make us friends. You need to keep up your strength so we can achieve our objectives. That’s all.”