“You’re safe now. I’ve got you. You’re drained, and this is your body reacting to that vulnerability. This is normal. You just need to rest,” he reassures me, brushing matted curls back from my face.
I absorb his words, comparing them to the trepidation that I feel as though I just might drown in, and recognize that he’s right. I feel empty, like I can’t protect myself, and it’s feeding the anxiety that I can feel crashing through me right now.
“Do you want me to help you rest?” Rogan asks after a beat.
I focus back on his moss-green gaze and nod my head. I don’t know if I can calm myself down on my own. Understanding alights in his soothing stare, and the back of his fingers gently stroke my cheek. I don’t miss the small warm streak left in their wake. I don’t know how I know, but I’m certain it’s blood, and for some reason it doesn’t bother me.
“Thank you, Lennox,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with appreciation and respect as his breath teases my lips, his mouth so incredibly close to mine. “Thank you for saving my life,” he adds, the tip of his nose skimming mine intimately.
Heat unfurls deep in my core, my body responding to his closeness like some sun-starved plant. I breathe him in, desire pooling between my thighs as he gently runs his thumb across my bottom lip. A gasp of exquisite anticipation almost escapes me as his mouth just barely skims mine, our eyes locked on each other and brimming with complicated layers of emotion. But instead of closing the distance between our lips and stoking the flickering need now blazing to life inside of me, he whispers Seno against my parted mouth. Then all at once, I collapse against him as everything in and around me bleeds black.
18
A loud snore wakes me up with a start, and I open my eyes and stare at the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment. Another snore fills the stillness of the room, and I’m not sure if it was my snore or Hoot’s that woke me up. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but as I sit up, I recognize the guest room that Rogan assigned me. He’s not in here, not that I would expect him to be, but disappointment flashes through me, and I give it the side-eye for a moment until another jarring snore has me looking around the room for Hoot.
I find him conked out on the bench that sits at the foot of the bed, snuggled up on the extra blanket I draped there. It takes me a moment to blink him into focus in the dark of the room, but as I do, I realize that Hoot’s shacked up with a fluffy black and white cat. This must be Rogan’s familiar.
I run my fingers through my hair, but they get stuck in the nest of tangles I’m sporting, so I leave Hoot to his cuddle party of two and make my way to the bathroom so I can get cleaned up. My phone is still MIA, and there’s not a clock anywhere in the room or attached bathroom, so I have no idea what time it is. It’s still dark though, and when I peek out the bathroom window, the moon is on the descending side of its apex, so I can’t have been asleep for that long.
I find my wide-toothed comb and start working on my mane as I turn on the water to the shower, waiting for it to heat up. Flashes of what happened the night before strobe through my mind, and I have a hard time figuring out how I feel about everything. The lycans, the Order, Rogan, Marx, it’s all so convoluted and overwhelming. I’m not sure what to think about any of it. I have so many questions, but the leading one at the moment has me looking in the mirror for answers.
I almost killed people yesterday.
Witches, I correct myself, as though that changes things. But the who of it isn’t really the issue I’m trying to sort through as I stare into my tired toffee-hued eyes. No, the who of it almost feels inconsequential, what’s really fucking with me right now is that I was ready to end them all. I almost killed them.
I look for the guilt that should be bubbling up in my chest at that thought. I try to find the sick feeling that should accompany the realization that I almost ended someone’s life, multiple someones, but it’s not there. That almost concerns me more than my actions do. Not only did I almost kill over a dozen Order members, but I don’t even feel bad about it.
That can’t be normal, can it?
I abandon my remorseless eyes in the mirror and step under the spray of the shower. What is happening to me? I feel like I’m losing who I am, but as I think that, it doesn’t resonate in my soul as being true. The thought that maybe I’m finally finding who I really am pops into my mind, and with it comes a feeling of validation, of knowing that this is the heart of it. I don’t feel like some hardened killer, I just feel like someone who’s done taking shit. I feel like someone who operates by the code that you give what you get.
I wash my hair thoroughly, plucking pieces of windshield from my curls and letting my thoughts wander to Rogan as I finger comb half a bottle of conditioner through the rest of my tangles. How he looked when he was unconscious and vulnerable in the car. The relief I felt when I discovered he was still alive. The way he stepped in front of me against the Order. His lips almost against mine.
Excitement flutters through me, but it can’t breach the confusion I feel about it all. Why am I going full middle-school-girl-crush on him? Yes, he’s gorgeous, but he’s also arrogant, cagey, myopic when it comes to his brother, and selfish. These are not qualities that I look for in a man. So what is it about him that’s encouraging me to ignore good sense? Is it the dark mysterious vibe? The take control attitude? His body?
I snort out a laugh at that thought. Maybe I have to admit that I’m shallower than I thought, and this simply comes down to the physical side of things, but that feels like bullshit too. I wash my body, taking note that there isn’t a bruise or a mark on me. Other than the occasional pieces of glass washing down the shower drain, it’s almost as though the accident was just a dream. I know Rogan and I didn’t exactly escape injury, but thanks to our magic, we walked away from all of this without a scratch.
Bowing my head in awe of that fact, I send out a quiet thank you to my ancestors. So far, this whole magic thing hasn’t proven to be without its issues, but there’s no ignoring how grateful I now feel to have it, to be alive and injury-free now because of it.
I rinse off and dry my hair, my thoughts wandering to the Order and what they could possibly want with me. I wrap a towel around my body and head back into the room to track down some clothes. Hoot looks up as a sliver of light from the bathroom cuts through the dark and falls on his snuggle session. His cat friend looks over at me with a yawn, but the two white stripes painted down its back give me pause.
I tilt my head as I take the little guy in. Its markings are strange for a cat, and yet I can’t help feeling like I recognize them from somewhere. It flicks its fluffy tail once as it settles in once more against Hoot, and that’s when it clicks. That isn’t a cat, it’s a damn skunk. Panic shoots through me, but I’m frozen in the bathroom doorway, not sure what to do. Did Hoot somehow invite the walking stink bomb into the house?
Shit. Rogan is going to kill me. He seems anal about his house being clean, and now my deficient ex-familiar has gone and booed up with this foul-smelling vermin.
“Hoot, come,” I call out, snapping my fingers and pointing to the ground next to me as though I expect the little rebel to actually listen to anything I tell him to do. He, of course, does nothing. “Hoot, come here right now!” I whisper growl, not wanting the skunk to get any negative vibes that may make it want to pick out fun things to spray.