“Anytime.” Tristan laughed and turned for the door. Pausing, he stepped closer to Niamh. “Where do I put her? Her bed…or my bed with me in hers?”
“Easy,” Niamh replied. “Yours. Your T-shirt on her, no bra, keep on her knickers and socks.”
“Socks?” Phil asked.
“Yeah. She’ll know he put her to bed, but that he didn’t get a ride. She would’ve taken off her knickers and socks for that.”
“But the bra is off?” Tristan affirmed quietly.
“That’s for comfort,” Niamh said.
“Put her in her bed,” John growled before Tristan could turn for the door. “Don’t play games when it comes to a woman feeling safe. Waking up in very little, in a man’s bed, and not remembering what happened makes a lot of women panic, or so I’ve been told. Even if it is only for a moment, that is a moment too long, even for a woman who seems to find weapons like a normal person finds pennies?—“
“She stole all those,” Niamh interrupted. “For all yer starin’, ye don’t notice much of the details, do ya? She’s the best pickpocket I ever saw.”
John’s eyebrows drew in. He hadn’t noticed.
“She’s clearly comfortable with you,” he said after a moment, “so put her in fluffy pajamas, tuck her into her bed, and let herwake up in a comfortable setting knowing you took care of her. That’ll go a lot further than whatever the puca is suggesting.”
“Very uninspiring but I can see the merit,” Phil said.
“The merit of calling me by my magical creature instead of my name to attempt to get my goat, or him throwing cold water on the fiery game they’re playing?” Niamh asked.
“This just got too complicated,” Phil muttered.
Tristan didn’t wait for them to argue it out. He kissed Natasha’s temple as he walked toward the door. Her head lolled and he snuggled her close before he set her down to strip. This was the crap part of flying her home in this state, but she’d asked for it, and it did set the right precedent.
Once in his gargoyle form, he tucked his clothes into her shirt to ensure they didn’t drop in flight, then took her in his arms and pushed into the sky. He didn’t waste any time, flying fast and straight toward the hotel. Once there, he barely hesitated before going to her room and knocking on the door.
Sebastian pulled it open, saw the situation, and got out of the way.
“Do you know which are her favorite pajamas?” Tristan asked, laying her on the bed. Her eyes fluttered but remained closed.
“Yes, but I don’t think I’ll tell you. You should pick out the ones you think she likes best. She’ll like that you chose for her.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her before looking down at her orderly suitcase. “Um…”
“It’s okay if you mess up her things. In this, it really will be the thought that counts. I’ll just go to the restroom.”
It seemed like Sebastian was rooting for Tristan to make an impression here. The others were probably playing games or using logic, but Sebastian knew her best and cared about her the most. If he thought Tristan was a bad idea, or someone Natasha wouldn’t want to handle her in this state, he’d get in the way.Instead, he was giving Tristan time alone to attend to someone he thought of as a sister.
Tristan blew out a breath, suddenly feeling unworthy. He’d never courted anyone, and Natasha was too good by far to mess with the likes of him. But he’d put himself out there earlier, even if she didn’t remember. He put himself out there every time he was in her presence. While Niamh’s idea would probably prolong this exquisite game they were playing, John was dead right. Even if this wasn’t as much fun, making her feel safe, waking up with her brother, in her own space and fully clothed in her PJs, was better for her peace of mind. When it came to a woman’s safety, that’s all that mattered.
He got to work, dressing her with careful efficiency and desperately trying not to let his gaze linger on secret places. He was painfully hard by the time he slid her into bed, but he ignored it. He kissed her forehead, and then lightly kissed her lips, before excusing himself from the room.
He wondered how much she would remember.
He wondered when he’d have to make good and finally tell someone his murky and dangerous past.
31
John
Frigid wind whippedby the cliff, swirling around him. After he’d seen everyone back to the hotel last night, he’d gone back out and sat on a park bench, looking out at the darkness and thinking. He’d tossed and turned when he did finally turn in, rising again early this morning.
Now he stood at the edge of the world, it felt like, looking out into the abyss as flying creatures gathered overhead to participate in a three-cairn—or whatever—training session led by a mysterious and intensely powerful creature that wasn’t completely gargoyle. What else he was, nobody knew. They also didn’t seem to care. Not about his past, and not about Nessa’s, or Austin’s or Jessie’s or John’s.
He felt the danger approaching from behind. His pack had learned never to do that. This convocation had no such qualms. Then again, he no longer attacked first, and asked questions later like in his youth.
