“What do you want for breakfast?” Silas asked. “Pancakes? Waffles? Sausage, bacon, chicken, beef? You want carbs or prey?”
She grinned at him. “Both, Sir. Waffles to hold the syrup better, bacon on the side, and sausage in my eggs with tons of cheese. Do we have mushrooms?”
“We do, along with onions and spinach. I know what you like in your omelets.”
“You aren’t going to fuck me, Sir?”
He shook his head. “Tonight, after you’ve spent the day being pampered.”
* * * *
The spa greeted her with warm lighting, citrusy air, and a woman with hands like magic. The first two hours disappeared into slow, deliberate kneading — shoulders first, her lower back, then every ache she hadn’t realized she carried in her thighs, calves, even the arches of her feet. Her toes. She didn’t talk, didn’t think. She just let herself melt under the skilled touch of someone who understood muscle and tension, who coaxed release from her body until her eyes felt heavy and her limbs hummed with relief.
Afterward, they wrapped her in a soft robe and brought her to the facial room, where steam and serums did their work. Her skin tingled and tightened and softened in turns. A cool mask eased the faint swelling around her eyes, and then came the shampoo and scalp massage, expert fingers working through her hair in circles so slow and firm it nearly sent her to sleep. She satthrough the blowout, watching them create soft waves, making it full of body and life.Pretty.
But it was the pedicure that nearly made her weep. An hour of a foot and calf massage before they ever touched a polish bottle — long strokes, heel to toe, firm pressure on the balls of her feet, knuckle rubs under the arch until she could feel the pain of every night shift drain out through her toes and ankles. Then the manicure, with an extra massage for her hands, the woman muttering something about muscle knots in her palms. She walked out with copper cat-eye nails, shimmer catching the light in little gleams with every movement. Hands and feet. Flawless. Her bones felt looser. Her body, lighter. And for the first time in over a week, her mind was quiet.
She came out of the robe and put her dress and shoes back on when they finished with her. Nothing else. No panties. No bra. Fucktoys have to dress for easy access. She felt a glimmer of arousal, just from putting the dress on.
Silas was in the waiting room, holding his tablet, earbuds in his ears, but the second she looked at him, his gaze met hers and a smile lit his face.
“You look like a brand new woman. Feel better?”
She nodded. “Did you wait out here all day?”
He shook his head. “I went home to get a few things started.”
His smile turned sly. His voice dropped a half-octave. “I have lamb shanks braising in the slow cooker. Garlic, red wine, rosemary, a splash of balsamic. The whole house smells like a damn dream.”
Her stomach growled, but the heat low in her belly had nothing to do with food. His voice could flip her switch faster than his fingers, sometimes.
“And after you’re fed,” he said, stepping close enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I plan to reacquaint myself with all your lovely holes.”
Her breath caught, and he grinned. “But first, dinner. You’ll need your strength.”
She considered how much better she felt, and wanted to talk about it. A few times during her assignment, she’dchangedto hawk in the hotel’s bathroom and immediately come back to human. But she hadn’t done so after her last shift. She’d needed sleep, andchangingmeans eating a shit-ton of food when you come back.
And really, when you’re that damned tired, and when it’s emotional and mental as much as physical, the restoration from a quickchangedoesn’t fix as much as it generally does otherwise.
She’d expected to wake this morning and spend a few hours as her hawk, to try to fix her sore muscles and aching feet, but she thought the spa day fixed more than achangewould’ve.
“Why the spa day, instead of a day of flight?” she asked Silas on the drive home.
“For wolves, achangefixes broken bones and bullet holes, but a lengthy, bone-deep exhaustion?” He shrugged. “It’s like, your physical body is attached to the emotional one, right? In my experience, the quick-fix method isn’t enough. You needed the emotions worked out of the muscles. Being tired because you ran twenty miles is different than being tired from a nine-day marathon of twelve-hour night shifts in an adrenaline-saturated hell. During times of war, when you can’t afford emotions, achangemight fix more of your exhaustion, but your time in that ER is over for now. You aren’t at war, and you needed pampering and spoiling. Any of us would’ve done it if we were capable, but hair and nail shit isn’t our thing, so we sent you to a place that could do it all.”
“They fed me buffalo wings and fried cheese between the massage and hair stuff. Was that your doing?”
He grinned. “Of course it was, little hawk.”
She shook her head. “You never call me little hawk.”
“Would you prefer cumbucket?”
The name didn’t work like it usually did, and she sighed. “Maybe later, but you were right to call me hawk, apparently. I thought I was ready to go into sex mode after your comment leaving the spa, but maybe I’m not yet.”
“A few more hours of pampering, and I think you’ll be up for it. No pressure, little fucktoy.”
Her body reacted that time, her clit waking up and pulsing at her. Not much, but a little.
