“Yes,” hehuffed.
I pointed to another assortment of stars. Even though I could sense I was tugging at August’s patience, he told me each one of their names. For eleven miles, he fed me information about stars and nebulas andplanets.
When we reached my new home, the bottom of my feet ached, but I felt as vaporous as the stars jewelling theheavens.
I folded my arms on the open passenger window. “So this wasfun.”
August grunted inresponse.
“Okay then, Caveman Watt.” I tapped the window frame. “You have yourself a goodnight.”
I smiled at him, and it thawed some of the tightness around his eyes. As I walked toward the flight of stairs that led to my new front door, I heard him call out, “I’m glad you haven’t changed, even though I sense you’re going to drive meinsane.”
I grinned at the door. “A little insanity will do yougood.”
I stepped inside the tiny foyer, trailing blood and dirt across the clean oak floors, marking my newterritory.
24
Iwokeup to the brightest and whitest sunshine. It streamed through my window, splashing warmth against my rumpled sheets and the bare patches of skin poking out of those sheets. I stretched, and bones cracked delightfully along myspine.
For a moment, I watched the unobstructed view of the mountains bathed in blue sky. It didn’t compare to the view from the inn, but this was still a damn good view. One I could get usedto.
What a dangerous thought thatwas.
Getting used tosomething.
Just because I wouldn’t let myself get attached didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it until I was uprooted and tossed between another set of walls. I rolled out of bed and stood up, but the minute the soles of my feet made contact with the cool floorboards, I winced and fellback.
Maybe I’d overdone it lastnight.
Walking a dozen or so miles barefoot was probably not the wisest thing I’d done, and God only knew how manyunwisethings I’d already done. I could just imagine August wagging his finger at me and saying,I told you so. He probably wouldn’t wag his finger, but he would definitely say I told you so. Good thing he wasn’there.
Keeping one hand on the bare walls of my bedroom, I limped to my bathroom. The tiles were still speckled in blood and dirt. I’d felt glad to mark my territory last night, but in the morning light, I regretted not having washed off my feet in the kitchen sink. At least I’d had the sagacity of soaking them in soap and ice-cold water before getting intobed.
After brushing my hair and teeth, I went into the living room to check on my uncle. Not only was he up, but he was having coffee with Nelson and August. I splayed my palm against the wall so I wouldn’t keel over, which drove a smug smile to August’s lips. How had I not heard our visitors? The apartment wasn’tthatbig, and my werewolf hearing was supposed to besharp.
I jerked my hand off the wall and took a tentative step, but grimaced. Could toes break from too much walking? Something definitely felt broken. And I wasn’t even talking about the skin that had blistered and cracked in a multitude ofplaces.
“I hope we didn’t wake you,” Nelson said, setting his mugdown.
I took another slow, agonizingstep.
“You okay, there, Ness?” Augustasked.
I pushed a smile onto my lips. “Yep.Great.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his big arms like a spectator enjoying a show. Another step and I reached the small linoleum countertop that separated the living slash dining room from thekitchen.
The trail of blood I’d left behind the previous night had turned brownish, blending into the dark knots of the yellowedoak.
“Nelson and August stopped by because they were worried about our living arrangements,” Jeb said, even though I hadn’t asked. Not that I wasn’t curious. I wondered what he thought about their concern. “And they brought usscones.”
He pointed to the plate topped with golden triangles flecked with tendrils of lemon peel that scented the air, which was a feat considering how strongly August fragranced the space. I wondered if it was the mating link that intensified his aroma or if he didn’t wash the soap off his skin after latheringup.
Keeping my hand on the countertop, I limped a couple inches closer to the small, roundtable.
“Yum,” I said. About the scones. Not aboutAugust.
