I blink at him. It is too early for this. I don’t have the bandwidth to try to figure out what the hell is going on in that pretty head of his.
My gaze drops down to his purple nipples. I can’t help it. They are just too attention grabbing. My focus lingers and then suddenly my stomach rolls with unease.
“What happened to your piercings? And chains?”
He doesn’t look at me. He simply continues to rearrange his collection of rubbish.
“Your friends took them,” he says softly.
I scramble up into a sitting position. I’m going to be sick. I don’t need to look down to know that they didn’t only take his nipple piercings. They took all of his piercings. They touched him intimately. Violated him. Manhandled him without his consent. Because I know Mabon wouldn’t have wanted to give up his jewellery.
“They are not my friends,” I say feebly.
As if that makes any difference. As if it somehow absolves me of guilt.
Mabon says nothing. He just hums a tune and pushes his bottle tops around the sheet, making some sort of pattern only he can see.
I can’t deal with this right now. I need coffee and food and a functioning brain.
“I’m going to have a shower,” I say as I heave myself out of bed. Then I remember my manners. “Unless you want to go first?”
He shakes his head, and his messy, tangled hair flutters. My eyes narrow. He likes to be neat and tidy. I know he does.
“Shall I show you how to work the shower?”
Bright amethyst flashes up at me. His delicate nose wrinkles. “If you wish.”
I smile fondly and bite back my chuckle. He has guilelessly asked a thousand questions about the human world, but this particular lack of knowledge embarrasses him? It’s hugely endearing.
I take him to the shower, talk him through what I’m doing as I get it running, and then I leave him to it.
I sit down on the edge of the bed. I’ll grab a shower once Mabon is done. Then find coffee and breakfast. Then we will head to the train station. Five hundred pounds will be enough for two tickets to London. We’ll be there by evening. We’ll part ways and this will all be over.
My chest aches sharply, all of a sudden. I give it a rub while my thoughts meander on.
After dropping Mabon off, I’ll very carefully sneak in a visit to my mum, then spend the rest of my life hiding from the Resistance. My heart thumps, low and heavy. Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a future to get excited about. But it is what it is.
I stare glumly at the ugly carpet and try to stop my whirling thoughts. ‘Don’t borrow tomorrow’s problems,’ my nan always used to say, and it is a philosophy I should stick to. Heaven knows today has enough problems of its own.
Suddenly, the bathroom door flings open. Mabon is standing in the doorway, a towel slung very low on his hips. His exquisite hair is nearly all loose and down. It’s damp and slightly frizzy, as if he has been towel drying it. One hand is in his hair, near the top of his head, holding a fistful up.
He is giving me a strange look. And there is colour on his cheeks. He almost looks shy, but that can’t be right. I don’t think Mabon even knows what shy is.
“Give me a braid!” he says regally.
Yep. I was right. Shy and bashful are not words in Prince Mabon’s vocabulary.
I shake my head. “You can do it yourself now. You’ll do a much better job.”
His eyes grow wide. His face pales. A fine tremor runs over his body. My brows furrow in confusion. Unease twists in my stomach.
“Blake, give me a braid,” he whispers.
Hearing my name on his lips is startling. Like a slap. Sudden, unexpected and intense. He never uses it. The sound of it is doing strange things to me. Very strange things. I think I like it. Alot.
“W…why?” I stammer in answer to his demand, while my mind reels from the sound of Mabon speaking my name.
He sucks in a sharp breath, as if I am the one who has slapped him. I don’t know how or why this verbal sparring match has occurred, but here we are, in the thick of it.
