The sun didn’t beat down extraordinarily hard. The air felt crisp and fresh, but these Gods-damned pants trapped every ounce of heat in them. Not even thinking twice about changing at the Lockes’, my brain battled itself with many,manyregrets. Laken wasn’t sweating as we walked home, but I inched toward death.
The leather squeaked with my steps. “I swear, I have to get these pants off. I think my thighs are chafing.” Between my panting and moans of pain, I tried rubbing my legs.
Laken looked very concerned with a smug I’m-trying-not-to-laugh smirk. “We’re almost to my house, you can shower there if you want.”
Hunched over, I gazed up at him with one eye squinting from the light. “You sure? My house is literally right up the road.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Laken stretched. “I, for one, don’t want to see any harm done to your thighs.” His eyes cut to me from his periphery. “Do you?”
Fuck.
“I prefer my thighs in top shape,” I agreed and swallowed any worries pestering me. They could wait for another, more convenient time.
The moment his house came close, relief lifted from my shoulders. My thighs’ freedom dangled right in front of me. I hadn’t been in his house—the Giblins’ house—since I’d needed a cup of sugar like… maybe ten years ago.
Like at my house, a wooden fence bordered the property. The house, a combination of stone and wood, sized slightly smaller, was the perfect size for a little family. Covering its roof was the same straw-like material as on Eliza’s father’s barn, like a shaggy rug. Laken came to his front door embellished with iron latches and swirls and patted his pants to find where he’d stashed his keys. Pulling them out, he jiggled them into the lock until it clicked. I entered first.
To say I felt surprised by the lack of decorations wouldn’t be incorrect… almost nothing hung on his walls. Exactly one blanket sat folded perfectly on the couch, one pillow, and his shoes were lined by the door. He’d definitely adapted to his life with the Wraiths, not bringing home any evidence of a life at all. Empty, spacious, and dark.
Nothing like the Laken I remembered, the one I’d basically lived with for years when I didn’t want to return home.
“Come on.” He nodded upstairs, and I followed.
His dim-lit room appeared equally vacant. Nothing but a bed, closet, dresser, and packed bags on the floor. A smoky gray comforter spilled over the edges of an unmade bed. Walking past him as if it were my room, I moved to his dresser, where several daggers were sprawled out on a cloth, shining from being recently cleaned.
Blades of silver and handles of varying metals, two were adorned with one big ruby and gold accents. Must’ve been a matching set. One was curved for a…specificuse and I wasn’t about to ask. The last one made me stop. Its blade was a shade darker than the others. The handle was forged to mirror dragon scales as its cross spun out with black jewels. The darkness of it came off so strong… so alluring—
“Don’t touch that.” Laken scared the shit out of me, and yet, I hadn’t realized my own hand hovered over it. I stepped back.
“Why?”
“It’s mine. Nobody touches it.” His voice turned cold, and I didn’t know why but one could guess by the distance in his eyes.
Noting the cloth clumped up beside it riddled with red stains, I thought it safe to assume that dagger needed more cleaning than the others. Without another word, I saluted the man and obeyed. Laken showed me to the bathroom.
Finally.
My fingers intertwined between the laces of these cursed pants. As I counted down to the moment my skin could breathe again, it was quite a gut punch when they didn’t comeoff as I tugged.I want to cry.Slipping my fingers in at my hips, I pushed and pried. Wiggled and shook. Kicked and sucked in. Nothing helped.
To the Gods I would curse and hunt down, for I was stuck.
Ripping the cabinets in his bathroom open, I dug around hysterically for something to cut myself out of these. I searched for anything to help. Stress sweat kicked in and the hyperactive nerves in my chest unsettled. I was screwed. Leaning my head against the wall, I half-laughed and half-cried. This would be my story. This wasn’t how I’d planned the night to go, but…
One option left.
I opened the door and shouted for Laken. Backing up, I bit my lip.What the fuck, man? Who else does this happen to?Leather pants = my mortal enemy. Still wearing the halter and fake sword, I quickly unlatched it as the door opened. Except when I looked up, I became even more unraveled.
Tilting my head, I couldn’t help where my stare traveled. Pausing a moment, I swallowed and slowly—very slowly—forced my attention to his face. “Umm… where—what, what happened to your clothes?”
Laken leaned against the frame, shirtless with his sculpted chest on display, his scar stretching over his ribs, looking as if something was wrongwith me. His eyes darted around; his hand sat on the door handle. “I thought something was wrong,” he exhaled.
There might’ve been a chance my shouting gave that impression.
“And believe it or not, I don’t want to be dressed as a dragon all day.”
I should’ve been able to breathe. I shouldn’t have stared. I shouldn’t have felt all the heat in my body travel south. But I did. He’d changed. And in a lot more ways than I knew of.No, no, Reece.“Why didn’t you put a shirt on?”
Crossing his arms as he straightened with his hip against the counter, he gawked at me. “Because, Reece, you called for me.”
