Ashermightbeamember of the Hunt, but it’s still a bad idea, isn’t it, to follow him to some unknown place? I should go home. Retreat to the pack house, where I actually think even he can’t get to me.
But my face still feels hot, and it’s not from where I was crying before. No. That touch. His hand on my cheek, grounding melike Sparrow did earlier tonight. Even more so in some ways because Sparrow had to get me to check in, to work for it.
One touch from Asher and I was back with him.
We don’t touch as we make our way through the streets, but he sticks close enough that I feel his body heat and can inhale the smoky scent of him. I can’t smell his magic—I’m not made that way—but there’s something underneath that I keep catching the faintest hint of. Part of his fae blessing, maybe, like Maurice has? Or just a reminder of what he was before he joined them?
“You’ve still got good instincts,” Asher says with a smile when he catches my eye. I flush and turn my gaze forward—there’s no need to keep looking at him like that. “I’d be wary of going with me too.”
“I know you won’t…” I swallow the rest of the sentence. I don’t know shit. Clearly.
“I’ve just sent Maurice a text to let him know I’m heading home,” he says, “and that I’m with someone.”
“Will he know it’s me?”
“Yes, I told him that.”
My heart beats faster. “Will he tell my pack?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I asked him not to.”
I look at him again. He’s being honest, I think, even relying on dulled senses as I am. “Okay.”
We go in silence the rest of the way. Sunlight streaks the horizon when we reach a little row of houses, a shop, and Asher gestures and leads me around the back. He clatters up an iron staircase with ease. I follow more slowly. Sounds reach me from some of the houses—people rising early to get ready for the day.
“Come on,” Asher says. “I’ll put a brew on.”
The flat isn’t large. The door opens to reveal stairs opposite, leading up to another couple of rooms. The one we’re standing inis the kitchen, with a small table and three chairs in the centre, like it’s the dining room, too. Another door down here is open, revealing a sofa but no TV, and I glance up the stairs again.
The door up there is shut. A bedroom? Must be. I kick off my shoes, leave them by the front door, and when Asher waves a hand at the table, I all but collapse into one of the chairs.
Fuck, I’mtired. And aching now that I’m letting myself feel it. I haven’t slept all night, which means I’ll heal even slower, and all this running around hasn’t helped any.
Asher puts a steaming cup of tea in front of me and drops into the seat opposite. “Tea,” he says. “I’ve got sugar if you want it. Somewhere. I think.”
He looks different, somehow, as light begins to filter into the room. A little tired, like how I feel. Stubble darkens his jaw, and when he shrugs off his jacket, my eyes linger on the fresh tattoo on his forearm.
It has to be new, for how stark the lines are, for the faint redness that still surrounds it. Asher takes a sip from his cup and smiles when he sees me looking, then extends his arm. “You can touch it if you like.”
I snatch my hands back into my lap. “No, that’s… No.” I swallow and don’t let my eyes linger on the shimmering butterfly on the back of his hand or the arrows and broken lines that paint his fingers. “You said you’d tell me how to get my wolf back.”
Asher hums. He drinks half of his cup of tea, then sets it down with finality. “Yeah, I did.”
“So?”
“So it’ll take time. Work. It’s the same as being out of sync, only your wolf… He’s scared, too. Hiding.”
I bristle. “I’m not scared.”
“Call it anger, then.” Asher isn’t even fazed by my tone. “But your wolf is scared.”
He is? I am? Fuck, I know that I am. I just don’t want anyone else to know it.
Too late, I guess. Asher knows more about me than most people in my life right now. More than anyone else, considering what I’ve told him tonight.
