Turncoat by Megan Derr (the false prince series txt) 📕

Byron sniffed. "Fine. I know when I'm not appreciated." He spun on his heel and strode off.

Dixie brushed his nose, glanced down at Greg. "I'll smuggle you up some real food when he gets lost in his papers again."

"Thanks," Greg said, then looked down at his food, poking at it.

Dixie couldn't sort if it was 'please go away' poking or 'I don't know what to say next' poking. He rubbed the back of his head, then sucked it up and said, "Look, I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to hurt ya. I really was just teasing. You weren't bothering me none."

Greg looked up warily, meeting his eyes, intense as anything. Dixie was used to folks finding him lacking for one reason or another, but he'd never been afraid of that before. He didn't realize till Greg gave him the sweetest little smile that he'd been holding his breath. "Still, I shouldn't have climbed into your lap like that. You're weirdly easy to relax around, dunno why."

"That ain't usually how folks regard me," Dixie said, and after a moment of hesitation, pulled the stool from earlier close again.

"Your eye keeps doing funny stuff," Greg said, peering at him like a kid at a Christmas tree. "Is it part of your, um, modifications?"

Dixie lightly touched the edge of his left eye. "Yeah, though I normally keep the whole thing in sleep mode. Exhausting to keep it running, and I'm more likely to draw attention. But I'm keeping an eye on stuff right now, so it's got to keep going." He'd probably have to eat a whole 'nother meal before he went to bed at this rate, to tide him over while he slept. "Speaking of modifications, I've been mucking with your phone. It'll need your voice prints once you're on your feet again, or at least less drugged, but I've added a bunch of little things it seemed you'd like."

Greg's face lit up like nothing Dixie had ever seen, taking the phone as Dixie held it out like it was made of gold and diamonds. "You modified my phone? So it's all cool like yours?"

"I don't know cool is the word, but I'm glad you like it. I'll lay it all out for you tomorrow. For now, you need to eat and get more sleep. How are you even still awake?"

Greg scoffed. "What, you mean because of Byron's drugs? Takes more than his knockout juice to keep me down."

"Why do I suspect that's a developed tolerance not a natural ability?"

Cheeks flushing, Greg ducked his head and resumed poking at his food. "Whatever. I'm not a loser, however much it seems otherwise."

"Didn't say you were," Dixie replied. "I know what a loser looks like. Ain't a single one anywhere in this house. Eat. Rest. I'm going before Byron comes in here to thump me but good. I'll see you tomorrow, pintsize." He hesitated, then nodded and strode off before he said or did something stupid.

He grabbed a quick bite to eat in the kitchen, then retreated to his room, ran a check on his delete programs and the news reports. Finding nothing troubling, he shucked his clothes and climbed into bed, chased into dreams by soft brown eyes and a sweet smile.

*~*~*

"You ain't supposed to be outta bed. Byron sees you down here, he's gonna drag you up there and tie you down." Dixie didn't even have to look up from the schematics he was going over. He could hear Greg's slow, halting tread as he came down the stairs and across the living room.

When he did look up, it was to see Greg giving him a look Dixie usually only saw on the faces of cranky children and wet cats. "I'm not staying up in that dreary fucking room for one more minute. The world ain't gonna end if I sit down here on the couch and watch TV and play video games."

Dixie snorted at the terrible imitation of his accent. "You mocking me, boy?"

"I would never," Greg retorted, a bare slip of a grin stealing onto his face as he settled gingerly onto the couch and retrieved the remote from the side table. "So what's going on down here in the real world? Am I officially out of a day job?"

"You're out a lot more than a job, darling," Dixie replied, turning back to his schematics. He thumbed to the next printout, then looked up again. His brow furrowed slightly at the pink flush to Greg's face. "You sure you're feeling well enough to be down here?"

"I'm fine," Greg grumbled and jabbed the on button for the TV. "Unless I'm bugging you."

"Nope. Just looking over paperwork—specifically, the security systems for the house we're gonna hit to get a Mason Chip."

Greg perked up at that, completely abandoning his interest in some weird-ass looking house hunting show. "Really? Who are we hitting?"

"I'm not sure sick kittens are allowed in on the plan," Dixie said and laughed at the withering look that got him. Setting down the papers, he picked up the new tablet he'd finished setting up that morning and carried it over to the couch.

Greg's hair was still damp from a shower, the scent of Byron's rosemary-mint soap clinging to his skin. Low-level lust curled through Dixie's body, but he shoved it away. Even if Greg wasn't still recovering and in need of rest, Dixie didn't do repeats.

"This is the target," he said, tapping his tablet and bringing up the rough overview Byron had typed up. "Robert House."

"I know him—well, of him. He's a mad scientist, right? I mean, officially he's as perfect and nigh-divine as the rest of the Pantheon. But I've heard Byron mutter about him before, read some of the reports he's lifted from emails and stuff when they slip. Bad dude."

"Yeah, but he likes living alone on a mountain," Dixie said and laid out some of the more solidified details of the plan as Greg read