Aerén didn’t react, but his entire demeanor grew icier.
Shaking his head, Taegér dropped the flirty manner. “Brenna wants some seeds and plants you think would thrive in Dregarus. Sebris had an indoor garden built for her.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Of course, I’ll see what I can put together.”
“Good. Then I’ll bid you goodnight, sweet Leya. Alas, I must go track down a Chosen. Dregarus—Empyrea—needs all the help it can get.”
Aerén finally inclined his head.
“Good luck,” Leya said. “I hope you find one.”
He disappeared as quietly as he appeared.
Aerén drew her close. “Ready?”
She nodded. Man, now to face her family. She could just imagine what her sister, let alone her father, would say when she told them about Aerén and her. And Hana when she learned the truth of what she could be.
They reformed in a heavy downpour in the alley near her apartment building.
Rain gushed over them like the heavens had opened up, and Leya groaned, “Great, welcome home. C’mon!”
She grabbed Aerén’s hand and dashed out of the alleyway, splashing through the puddles.
Moments later, they hurried into her building, following another older tenant whom she knew by sight. The man nodded at her, shaking his umbrella before rushing up the stairs.
She half laughed, half groaned, flicking back her dripping hair. “We’re soaking wet.”
“Rain is good,” he drawled, giving her a once-over. “Better without the coat on, I’d say.”
She huffed out a laugh at his one-track mind. Even with his hair plastered to his skull and his face wet, Aerén looked like he was ready for a photo shoot, while she probably resembled a drowned rat.
“Come.” She ran up the stairwell.
Outside her apartment, she stopped dead. “Darn! I don’t have my key. It’s in my tote at the office—”
“I got this.” He touched the door lock, and it clicked and released. He waved her inside.
The smell of mint, thyme, and lemongrass from her windowsill box infused the air in welcome. “Is there anything you can’t get access to?”
Aerén shut the door behind him. “No.”
Leya huffed. Of course not.
She removed her parka and hung it on the coat stand. Rain dripped from her hair to soak her t-shirt, wetting her further. Grimacing, she tugged off her boots and set them aside.
“I’ll get us towels.” She rushed to the bathroom, grabbed two, and returned to find he’d also removed and hung his jacket and left his boots next to hers, something she could never get her sister to do.
In his sock-covered feet, his damp hair unbound and hanging around his shoulders, he belonged more in a fantasy movie than in her cold apartment, with its taupe couches, orange and blue scatter cushions, and wooden coffee table.
His back to her, he studied the large, framed collage of her family and friends hung above the three-seater couch. It must have fascinated him because he didn’t turn her way. “Who are they?”
“My family and friends.” She switched on the radiator near the couch. “That’s Jan, with the braids. You spoke to her. And the redhead is Tori. Jan owns the coffeehouse.”
“Yes, I recall the owner. She wore your coat, but she didn’t smell right.”
Leya laughed and shook her head. “Here.” She handed him a towel.
Startling her, he pulled her closer and started rubbing her hair with the terry cloth. “You’re also wet.”
