She opened her eyes, struggling for a light tone. “Are you asking me on a date?”
His silent laughter brushed her cheek. “If this was a date, I’d buy you flowers, not a change of clothes. What size shoe do you wear?”
His consideration shook her. “You want to buy me clothes.”
“Actual y, I’m good with you naked. But you might appreciate something clean after your shower.”
She was dying to shower, desperate to scrub away the smel of smoke. But. “You’re going now?”
“Or I could stay and scrub your back.”
The invitation was there, the intent was there, gleaming in his golden eyes, but softened with humor, leashed by his wil.
She shivered with nerves and desire, her gaze slipping from his. “No, thanks.”
He frowned, misunderstanding the reason for her trembling.
Or perhaps understanding too wel. “You don’t mind being left alone?”
Memory slammed into her. The cheap room. The sound of footsteps stumbling down the hall. Her heart pounding as she hid under the bed. “Angel, I’m back.”
She swal owed a whimper. Straightened her spine.
“Sometimes I prefer it.”
“We’re out of the way here,” Iestyn said. “Second-floor corner unit. And the door double locks.”
She nodded wordlessly.
He frowned. “Unless locks don’t work against demons.”
She pul ed herself together. “I can set simple wards. I’m not afraid of demons.” Only ghosts. “Anyway, it’s highly unlikely they fol owed us here.”
“They found us before.”
“Because we used magic. Power attracts them.”
“Like shit draws flies.”
She scowled. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“Yeah. Your safety.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “How do you know they won’t burn the place down while I’m gone?”
His protectiveness warmed her. “They don’t usual y attack so openly. First, because they won’t risk attracting Heaven’s attention. And second, because they can’t assemble that much energy in so short a space of time.
Most of the time they must borrow other matter — other bodies.”
“Like in the aley.”
She hugged her arms. “Yes.”
He searched her face. Apparently what he saw satisfied him, because he gave a short nod. Stooping, he unstrapped the dive knife from his ankle and offered it to her, hilt first.
She recoiled slightly. “That’s yours.”
“I’m loaning it to you. You need it more than I do.”
“But I just told you—”
“That you’re safe from demons, yeah, I know. Hel, a knife’s probably no good against demons anyway.”
“Actual y, fire needs oxygen to survive,” she said seriously.
“If you cut the body’s airway, the demon must leave its host or die.”
“Good to know.” He offered the blade again. “Take it.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason you gave it to me back in the cel ar.”
She stared at him, confused.
He closed his fingers over hers on the hilt. “To remind you you’re not alone.”
Lara grabbed the tiny bottle of shampoo, averting her eyes from the coin-operated condom dispenser on the wal above the toilet. She pushed open the mildewed shower curtain and winced. Yuck. Maybe she should wear her wet sneakers into the tub? But then they would never dry by morning. She wasn’t that confident of Iestyn’s ability to return with shoes.
He would return. She was sure of that. And when he did.
She shivered and cranked on the shower.
At least the water was hot. She stood under the scalding spray, letting it pound her scalp and sink to her bones, flaying herself with the cheap washcloth as if she could scrub away her memories.
“Sex is not that big a deal with us,” she’d told him.
“Why are you making such an issue of this?”
A chil chased down her back despite the hot spray.
That’s what you get for lying. Sex was an issue for her, too.
Had been an issue. She wasn’t a victim anymore.
And maybe, with him, sex would be different. Easier.
When she was with him, she felt different. Lying with him on the riverbank, she’d felt warm and eager and unafraid.
Something unfurled inside her as she remembered. Her nipples tightened. A flush rose in her skin to match the heat of the water. Shutting off the shower, she reached for a towel.
He was gone long enough for the flush to fade, for her nipples to pucker again with cold. She checked her rudimentary wards: a taw traced in the dirt of the window, another scratched in the paint above the door, two crossed lines like a hilted sword. But until Iestyn came back, she had nothing to do. She paced the narrow space before the dresser, wrapped in a skimpy, scratchy towel, her hair in wet strands down her back, trying not to think. When the knock came, she flew to the peephole.
Iestyn stood on the landing outside, his hands ful of plastic bags. She tugged open the door and then hung back, suddenly conscious of her nakedness under the towel.
His eyes darkened at the sight of her, but al he said was,
“There’s a comb in one of the bags. I’m going to clean up.”
There was a comb, she discovered, investigating as he disappeared into the bathroom. And a brush. Canvas sneakers — size eight — jeans, a couple of tops, a zippered hoodie, and a multipack of cotton panties. But no bra.
No nightshirt. She dug into another bag and found more Tshirts, men’s size large.
She glanced at the closed bathroom door before dropping her towel.
Ripping open the plastic, she yanked on one of the large Tshirts, layering the hoodie over it for good measure. The mirrored wal told her she looked ridiculous, her long bare legs poking out from under the white shirt and bulky navy fleece. But at least she was warm. She pul ed a face. And her nipples were covered.
The last bag held toiletries: toothbrushes, a razor, a tube of antiseptic cream. She frowned over the last, squinting to read the label.
The bathroom door opened. Iestyn emerged, lanky and golden in a cloud of steam like a seraph streaming from Heaven. The towel slung low around his hips was every bit as smal as hers had been.
She jerked her gaze up. And widened her eyes in dismay.
“Impressive.”
He grinned. “Thank you.”
She bit her lower lip. “I meant your throat.” She stepped closer to get a better look.
Red stripes seared his neck just under the cord. The skin around the lampwork bead looked even worse, cracked white edges around a scarlet burn.
She reached to touch him, to heal him, and he caught her fingers. Her nerve endings sparked. Her blood hummed and quickened.
“No magic,” he said. “I don’t want any demons finding us tonight.”
“But you’re hurt,” she protested. His neck looked almost abraded, raw and angry.
He shrugged. “I bought some stuff to put on it.”
She remembered the tube of antibiotic ointment in her hand. “Let me.”
Using their linked hands, she drew him to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and she moved between his thighs, his knees on either side of her legs, his bare feet flanking hers.
She sucked in her breath, acutely conscious of his difference, his size, his maleness, his. toes. His toes were webbed.
Her hand shook.
“I feel better already,” he murmured close to her breasts.
Heat climbed her neck and into her face. “Hold stil,”