Then he stood and dumped her off his lap onto her hands and knees. “See you out there, Rutger.”
As the sound of his footsteps dwindled, Rutger groaned. He tucked away his cock, zipped up.
She shifted onto her butt and sat leaning against the car remains. “Bad? No, I know I was.” She pouted.
“Why? What the fuck, Cyn. Any other words would’ve been better.”
“I know. He just… is being an ass, though I get why.” She did, very much so. With her elbows on her knees she stuck her fingers into her hair, and she peered up at Rutger. “But I don’t know how to fix it. Yes, I shot him. I don’t even remember it very well. Really, I don’t. He’s right, maybe I did see him as nothing?”
After a sigh, Rutger sat beside her and hugged her to him, warming both her body and her heart. This was what Vargr used to do.
She blinked sadly at the opposite junk wall.
“That you are bothered by that is good. We both know killing a Ghoul Lord is worth doing, so we are just going to have to hone your methods. Yes?” He kissed the top of her head. “I said I would interrogate you on this, didn’t I? Willow is waiting, but we can talk a bit longer. Without going all gestapo on you, tell me more. You didn’t see Tom or Vargr?”
She shook her head. “No. Or not as who they are. It was over fast, and all I really remember seeing was a whole lot of people and him, the Thing, the Ghoul Lord in a skin suit.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I want to find out who I am,” she added softly, still staring unfocused at the wall of squashed-together vehicles. “But what if what I am is not something I can bear?”
He gathered her even closer, until she was so tightly held she could barely breathe. “It’s what most of us fear, I think, deep down. All we can do is soldier on. Even before the invasion people worried about shit they couldn’t control. It wasn’t good then and isn’t now. You are a good person at heart, Cyn. I am sure of that.”
Words, more words, though she did feel an easing of her worries.
“Just try to stop reminding Vargr of your errors. I almost had him back with us.”
She sighed then patted his hand. “Let’s return.” Cleaning up was going to be a bitch. She rose and began picking up her clothes. The bra was a write-off… She frowned at Rutger.
He shrugged then stripped off his shirt and unhooked a water canteen from his waist. “Use it to clean up.”
“Thanks.” Though the amount of come he produced was more than average. If only men could make it vanish afterward.
Next time, she must bring a change of clothes and fuck next to a working shower? She turned the canteen over in her hands, unscrewed the lid, then chose to tip water onto the defunct bra and not his shirt. “You know Vargr saw red wings on me? Yet I don’t see how that can be.”
“No. Me neither. That also worries you? If it happens again, think on it. Besides, what would it matter? Wings are generally a good thing except when people forget they have them and get them caught on doorways.”
“I don’t know. It just does.”
She left the topic there, unable to say why it was niggling her. Rutger was right. This world was full of uncertainties. Worry when things landed in your lap, not before.
37
Vargr watchedas Rutger fell into step with him. The end of the bridge was coming up, with the three rockmen leading the way. He ignored the horned beaster. If Rutger wanted to talk, he’d talk, but he’d not volunteer.
They strode at the tail end of the convoy of people.Road-trip Band, he’d heard someone say Cyn had dubbed them. His lips curved into an almost smile. She was impossible to ignore and always would be unless someone figured out how to break the mating bond.
Lithe, tall for a girl, swinging mane of catacomb-dark hair, twinkly red eyes, that gorgeous butt, those curves, and her smart mouth—that used to make him grin at her daring. On her own, Cyn was enough to trigger a disaster. And then too she was deadly. Which was what had plonked her into trouble.
Not with everyone here, just him. The others had put her killings aside, somehow.
Vargr scratched at his neck trying to reach where his wings connected to his back but couldn’t… quite. Fuckin’ things. They weren’t that useful indoors anyway.
A few new rocklike skin bumps on his shoulder reinforced his idea that he was still changing, only slowly, unlike her.
He preferred to stay near the back away from Cyn. Locke was here too. The sandy-haired, bearded weaponsmith was terribly dedicated to Maura, and he thought he recognized the signs of a stricken man. Locke and Maura had talked the tongues off each other at the picnic at Parklands. He’d seen them kissing too, and was surprised Locke hadn’t persuaded her to go further and done the whole bondmating thing.
They made a pretty pair to his eyes, though Locke was shorter than Maura. The blue squiggly beaster markings that down his arm were like pointers to where the two of them clasped hands.
