“They don’t have room service,” she said, speaking rapidly, knowing it betrayed her nerves, but unable to stop herself. “The coffee shop downstairs delivers, though, so we can call in an order. There’s supposed to be a menu . . . here it is.” She picked up the well-worn menu and began flipping through it as if it held the secrets of the universe. What a fucking dork she was.
Dragan, to his credit, either didn’t notice her manic state or chose to ignore it. He was probably accustomed to women going crazy around him. He walked past her without a glance, his focus entirely on the window. Shoving away the gauzy sheers she’d wasted so much time on, he stared out the window, hands fisted on narrow hips, head turning from side to side, as if taking in every detail. He seemed very warrior-like in that moment, despite the rather ordinary, next to the highway, tourist vibe of the hotel. It made her wonder what kind of fighter he’d been, back in the day. And where had the wings come in? What did he use them for in battle? She would have asked, but was afraid it might be painful for him to talk about the life he’d lost. The one stolen from him somehow, whether by magic or something else.
She dropped to the bed closest to the door and flopped to her back, legs hanging off the end. It was time to start thinking and stop running. It had been the right decision this morning, but now they had to get smart, because Sotiris sure as hell was.
“The first thing he’ll do is try to track my phone.”
Dragan turned, a huge, dark form backlit by the setting sun. “So you said earlier. Will he succeed?”
“No. I removed the SIM card from my phone and turned it off. He won’t be able to track it. His guy will look for comms from my laptop next, but he’ll never find that either. I’ve got encryptions on top of encryptions, and I’m a gamer. My connections bounce through so many countries, he’ll need a few vaccinations by the time he gives up.”
“Good,” he said, giving her a half smile. “That’s my bed, by the way.”
“Oh!” She jumped up as if she’d been shocked, then stood staring at him, her heart racing. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “The door is the only vulnerable access to the room. I should be closest to it.”
“Right. Of course.” Her voice was an embarrassing squeak, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Do you want to look at the menu?”
He took it from her, but quickly shook his head and gave it back. “I can read the words, but these descriptions mean nothing to me. You choose.”
“Any preference?”
“As long as it’s meat. Preferably bloody.” He shrugged. “In my world, the meat was killed, cooked, and eaten the same day.”
She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” She opened the menu, but then remembered her purchase and handed him a white, plastic bag with the hotel’s logo on it. “They had a gift shop downstairs. There wasn’t much, especially not in your size, but I got you a t-shirt and sweats, just for tonight. And a pair of socks. You’ll need to keep your boots, for now. But we’ll stop somewhere tomorrow and do better.”
He took the bag and peered inside, then raised his eyes and gave her a surprisingly sweet smile. “Thank you.”
She smiled back. “It’s not much, but it’s clean. The bathroom’s through there.” She pointed. “You can shower if you want, while I order the food.”
He walked the few steps to the bathroom and stood there, staring inside. For the first time, she saw something close to despair on his face as he scanned the small space. She frowned. She’d missed something, but what?
“Shit!” She hurried over to him and patted his thick arm. “Sorry. Let me show you.”
The tub and shower combination was the easy part, as was the sink. The toilet made her turn ten shades of red, but she persisted, telling herself it was a perfectly normal bodily function and nothing to be embarrassed about. It didn’t work, but it got her through the explanation.
“Okay,” she said finally, squeezing past him in the tight space. “Any questions, just yell.” Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and breathed. That hadn’t gone too badly. She heard the shower water turn on, heard the curtain slide with a rattle of metal, and jumped away from the door, turning to stare at it. He was getting in the shower. Her lips curved in a crooked smile. He was naked and getting in the shower. She could crack the door open, see if he needed anything else, like soap? More towels?
A thump sounded from inside and she hurried back to the main room. “Coward,” she muttered, then laughed at herself and picked up the room phone.
DRAGAN WATCHED Maeve pile their empty plates on the plastic tray. A young woman had showed up at the door soon after his shower, with the same tray piled high with all manner of food and other things. Maeve had reached to take the tray from the girl, but he’d moved past her to take it instead. No doubt she could have lifted it—she was stronger than she appeared at first glance—but some protective instinct had driven him to step in front of her. She’d treated the girl’s arrival as routine, but all he’d seen was someone they didn’t know who was offering a tray with too many places to hide things.
Maeve hadn’t reacted, other than to hand the girl some money and close the door. She’d then laid out their meal, placing a dish in front of him that held a large piece of nearly-raw meat and a pile of what he now knew were “French fries.” The name made no sense to him, but the “fries” had turned out to be crispy slices of potato with enough salt to make him long for a huge mug of ale. There’d been no ale, but there had been wine. Maeve had drunk sparingly, but even that had brought a flush to her cheeks. He’d noticed her placing the back of one hand to her face, as if measuring the heat of her skin.
She set the piled tray on a narrow table near the door, then sat across from him. “I can make coffee, if you want. Or tea?” She started to get up again, but he reached for her hand, stopping her. She froze, staring at their joined hands, his skin dark from a sun that didn’t shine on this world, his hand dwarfing her pale fingers.
He rubbed his thumb over her soft skin. “There were many things I missed during my long imprisonment,” he said softly, not looking at her. “But the one I missed the most, the one that ate at my soul day by day, century by century, until I thought I’d go mad from the lack . . . was this. The grasp of a friend’s hand, the affirmation of a shared humanity.” He looked up then, and saw tears shining in her eyes. He lifted his other hand slowly and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “The delicate feel of a woman’s skin,” he murmured. “So soft. Like yours.” He felt the heat of her reaction then, but it wasn’t the wine this time.