I slid from that splendid mattress, my head hitting the antique boxing gloves Bruiser had given me, gloves so stained with ancient sweat that they would forever smell of my love. My feet hit the rug we had rolled around on. And I remember the unimportant words he had spoken.
“The rugs are like the rugs at the inn, Tabriz tribal rugs, from my private collection, in perfect condition.”
“You own rugs and wine and Harleys.”
“And I am owned by you.”
“I like rugs. But the sheets feel better.”
“As my love wishes.”
After that, we had finished the night on the bed. I was tired and sore and felt fabulous. The sun was graying the night through the windows. On the air, I smelled bacon and other wonderful meat. I stood and stretched, muscles aching in ways they hadn’t in ages. I hoped housekeeping figured out they needed to change the sheets again. I smiled at the memories.
It was time to meet a new day. New problems. I opened the closet to see that all my clothing and gear had been unpacked. Hanging there were the work clothes I had left behind when I ran away. Black suits. The clothing Leo had paid for...
The joy of the night fell through my feet into the floor with a crash. I had a trip to a cemetery to make. To Leo’s grave. I had been to the mausoleum once before, not too long after he died, hoping to feel something—anything—from Leo inside his coffin. There had been nothing. Hehad died, and nothing in the timelines had shown me a different possibility.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to think that through clearly.I am going to Leo’s grave.
I put my crown on the closet shelf and stumbled to the shower to wash the dancing off my feet and sweat off my body. While we were in the mountains, someone had remodeled the bathroom. It was all sleek white marble and mirrors and lighting that made me look fabulous even without makeup. The shower water was strong and hot, and I leaned back against the cool tile, letting the water beat the soreness out of me and wash the dancing sweat from my hair.
I didn’t look to see it, but the water reminded me of time suspended in water droplets, showing me options and possibilities, a timestream of the future and the past. The potential results of every move, every decision. A liquid minefield of failure with few droplets showing success. And I remembered the timestream where Leo died.
I had hated him. I had feared him. I had respected his abilities to hold his violent people in a static form of peace and weave a future that might bring true peace between all the paras and the humans. Some small part of me had respected that ability to instigate and then keep all the machinations and loyalties and games straight.
And he had died. A million times in every water droplet. And in reality.
When I opened my eyes, the water was just water. No timeline. A memory.
I hadn’t tried to bubble time or slide around in it, changing the outcomes of actions. I didn’t know if I still had that ability. I hadn’t tried to see the future since I came out of the rift, healed from the cancer that timewalking had brought me. It was better this way.
When I left the shower, wrapped in a soft black robe someone had hung on the shower door, my hair twisted up in a towel, Bruiser was sitting on the foot of the bed. While I showered, someone had changed the sheets and made up the bed. The room smelled fresh and all Bruisery. I smiled at him, and he smiled back a little uncertainly.
From the closet, I pulled out a black suit, a black nylontee, and a gold top that wrapped left and right and would be perfect to hide all the weapons I wanted to wear today. I kicked a pair of waterproof fancy leather boots with straps and buckles and ties up the sides into the floor space and held up the clothing. I said, “Whatcha think? Queenly enough? ’Cause I’m not ever gonna wear boring heels and a dress to my calves and a pill box hat.”
Softly, that odd expression still on his face, he said, “You will look beautiful and frightening, as you should.”
Thinking about his expression and his tone, I turned away and hung the clothing on the small hook on the doorjamb, one that hadn’t been there before. Inside me, Beast padded away. Hiding. I frowned, shoved my fists into the robe pockets, turned back to Bruiser, and leaned against the closet door. Something was wrong. “What?” I demanded.
“Last night was wonderful.” Carefully, he added, “Magical.”
“I was there.”
“I used Onorio magic. On you. Onorio sex magic. And I didn’t even realize it until,” he made a waffling motion with one hand, “after.”
“I was there,” I said again.
He smiled, a sad faint little twitch of his lips. “Onorio magic binds people to me.”
It hit me. He was feeling guilty. Shamed. There was something in his body language that said he was about to bolt. About to leave me for my own good. I recognized it because I did that too; I ran away when things hit the fan. “Have you ever tried to bind me?”
His head shot up. “No. But last night—”
“Last night Beast pulled your magic out of you.”
His eyes drifted away, unfocused, remembering. “Is that what happened? Is that why I don’t remember?”
“Yup. I think you should try to bind me. Right now.”
