Kira grinned as he faced off with the tiny bundle of fur, who refused to come anywhere near him.
“Listen, you little ball of trouble, you evade me again, I’ll leave you out here.”
Good grief. “Týr, that attitude won’t work. You’re frightening him. You need to be gentle.”
He scowled at her, but the sight of him out there in the falling snow, trying to rescue a wild animal, melted her heart.
“Cats are better,” he grumbled. “At least they’ll never reveal where you hid the body to the cops.”
Kira bit back a smile at his testiness. “Are you going to complain instead of bringing him inside? Fine, I’ll help.”
“No, you won’t,” his terse voice drifted to her, but she was already scurrying for the boots she’d left to dry near the fireplace. The door shut before she’d even pulled on her footwear. Týr walked inside, holding the snarling pup by its scruff. She dropped her boot.
“You owe me,” he muttered, striding to the hearth. Crouching, he set the squirming furball near the heat. The animal slid away until his rump bumped her toes, then he appeared to calm down.
“Hey, little guy,” she crooned, going down to her knees. Soulful, dark eyes settled on her. The puppy appeared to be a couple of weeks old. “Maybe we should feed him?”
Cutting her a heated stare, Týr rose and strode off to the kitchen. Kira cast a quick look around and found the towel she’d used earlier for her hair near the fireplace. Folding the warmed terrycloth, she formed a makeshift bed near the fireside.
Týr reappeared with a bowl of milk and set it on the floor, hunkering down next to her again. “Listen up,” he told the pup. “You make this place your toilet, out you go.”
“Stop threatening the poor thing.” Kira cautiously reached out and stroked the shivering pup. “He needs to get warm.”
Grunting as if that was an answer, Týr watched the puppy, frowning.
“What?”
“There’s something about him…” Then he shook his head. “Yeah, that’s no wild dog, it’s a wolf.”
Oh, crap. Kira warily eyed the animal. “Fine. We can set him free in the morning.” Because she’d rather not have a she-wolf on her doorstep.
The tiny wolf shook its body as if ridding itself of the wetness, its black fur gleaming in the firelight. He took one slurp of the liquid then ignored the milk and settled on the towel.
“Ungrateful wretch,” Týr muttered, rising to his feet. He crossed to the couch, lay down again, and held out his hand to her.
“Wait, we need a pillow.”
“There are many ways I’d like to use a pillow with you,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her in a sensual caress. “Go ahead, get it.”
Oh, man. Kira hurried off to the bedroom, her face burning at the images his words conjured, and returned a minute later with the cushion.
He tucked it behind his head, then grasped her hand and pulled her down, settling her half over him again. His arm came around her. Kira doubted she’d manage to sleep this way. But really, she no longer cared. She was right where she wanted to be.
The crackle of the burning wood echoed in the quiet room. Kira snuck a peek at Týr. He had his other arm thrown over his eyes, revealing only the lower part of his straight nose and chiseled jaw. His lips were pressed into a flat line.
Uneasiness stirred. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly. “I thought you wanted this—us?”
His fingers drew small circles on her lower back. “It’s not you. Never you.”
Okay, good to hear that. But Týr’s tormented expression when she first walked into the living room still troubled her. Cautiously, she ventured, “When I came in here earlier, you looked like…death.”
His silence took on a darker turn. A humorless laugh escaped him. “It is what I am, what I do. Don’t you know this?”
At his typically careless response, she stifled a sigh. “Don’t do that, Týr. This is me. Like you said, we can’t hide from what we feel forever. Besides, you and I clashed more often than not whenever our paths crossed, which is mostly your fault, by the way…” A flicker of a smile. Sadly, it vanished just as fast. “But our time of butting heads has passed. Talk to me. I want to understand.” To help. More than anything, she wanted to ease the anguish she sensed in him.
No, she didn’t think he’d like hearing just how much she actually saw. The man was a veritable rock and obviously didn’t like his emotions laid bare. Heck, he wore his snarky humor like armor.
She teased, “Unless you like me thinking you’re simply a philandering, no-good, womanizing tomcat, and er, skunk…” She ran out of descriptors.
