My eyes fly back to the bed. The one,single, bed—because of course the company wouldn’t have reserved a room with double queens. Not when only one person is supposed to be staying here.
Gulping at the thickness in my throat when I contemplate sharing a bed with him, I turn away and place my suitcase next to the set of drawers to begin unpacking for the week.
Neither of us speak, both metaphorically tiptoe-ing around the king-sized elephant in the room as we settle in. I retreat to the bathroom to shower off the plane ride before bed, dreading my chances of keeping myself safe from him when we’re forced into such close quarters.
I slip into my silky pajama set, a pale pink button down short sleeve shirt with tiny sunflowers printed all over it and matching shorts. I bundle up my dirty clothes and steel myself as I open the door.
“It’s all yours," I say, gesturing to the bathroom with steam billowing out behind me.
“Wow, leave any hot water for the rest of us?” Asher asks, and once again, I can’t tell if he’s mocking me in a friendly,teasing way, or if he’s being mean. My lips scrunch to one side as I inch past him to the far side of the bed and sit down on the edge.
“I called down for more pillows and an extra set of blankets. They should be up any minute so if someone knocks, that’s probably what it is," he says.
“Oh, okay great. Thanks," I reply, trailing off as Asher closes the bathroom door before I finish speaking.
When he comesout bare chested in a pair of low-slung shorts twenty minutes later, my eyes nearly bug out of my head.
“What. You…” I splutter, nothing coherent coming out of my mouth because he has absfor days.So many ridges of muscle are staring me in the face that my mouth starts to water; I want to run my tongue along those ridges and count them.
When I manage to pull my eyes from his torso, the most infuriating smirk takes over his face, and naturally that’s the moment my inner animal decides to show up. With a little tingle along my cheeks and forearms, I sprout smooth patches of short grey fur.
“Ughhhhh,” I throw my head back and let out a groaning yell fit for the undead, as my frustration with this shifting nears its breaking point.
Asher’s smirk disappears and a look that might be concern replaces it.
“Are you okay?” he asks, reaching out like he might touch me, but I pull away.
“What does it look like?” I snap, holding my arms out wide and turning away to hide my frustration and sadness.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
I’m surprised to hear that he sounds like he means it, but I’m not sure what he expects me to say. If I can’t do anything, what could he possibly do?
“It’ll go away on its own,” I mutter, “eventually.”
“It…” he trails off.
“What?” I look up at his tentative voice, trying to keep my hackles in check.
“Nothing.”
Are his cheeks turning pink? Can vampires blush?
I’m fully invested now, and I perk up again.
“No, tell me. What were you going to say?” I ask.
“I was going to say that it looks…” When he stops again, I purse my lips and prepare for the worst. He must see or sense me closing up, because his eyes widen and he rushes to finish. “No, it’s not bad. I was just thinking that it looks soft.”
My head tilts at this, and my hand rises to my cheek. I’ve never even considered how my various types of fur might feel to others. Stroking my fingers down my cheek, I shrug, and he leans forward.
“Well?” he asks, and somehow his voice is even more hushed than it was before, almost reverent. “Is it?”
I reach out to him, watching as his gaze flicks between my outstretched hand and my eyes. One side of my mouth quirks up at his hesitancy.
“I won’t bite you,” I say, and I’m pretty sure his lips twitch into what might almost be a smile at the implication that of the two of us, I’m not the one with lethal fangs.
Asher extends his hand and places it in mine, letting me take the lead and guide him. I run his fingers over the fur on my opposite arm, and he sucks in a breath. I raise my eyebrows in question, and he nods.
