“Don’t pester me, Cas,” Irishka threw off the arrogant hand of the redhead and tried to climb to the other side of the bed, but was detained by Greg, who had just woken up.

“Lie down like this, birdie,” Gregory, disheveled from sleep, yawning and rubbing his black witch’s eyes with his fist, arranged his wife more comfortably on him. “Why are you swearing early in the morning,” he reached for a kiss.

“Togo.” A small hand forced him to sink onto the pillow. “Who promised to tell me about the man who locked us in the treasury?” What instead?

- What? - the redhead pretended to be a fool....