But not the whole truth.
"The man you're running from. Is he dangerous?"
Her chin jerks up. "I didn't say—"
"Didn't have to." I tap the desk once. "Fear like yours doesn't come from lawyers and paperwork. Someone hurt you. You're not sure you're safe yet."
Color drains from her face. For a long moment she doesn't speak. I wonder if I've pushed too hard. Scared her off.
Then her spine straightens. That fierce edge sharpens in her scent.
"I have a restraining order. It didn't help much. So I left."
Good.She fought. She ran. She survived.
A restraining order that didn't work. Rex will dig up the rest by morning.
"You can stay tonight." I stand. She watches me rise. "Betty's Diner hires constantly. I'll have your car looked at tomorrow. Depending on the damage—could take a few days."
"And if I can't pay for repairs?"
"We'll work it out."
She stands too. Closes the distance between us. And I realize my mistake. In this small office, with fire crackling down the hall and rain streaming down the windows, she stands close enough for her scent to wrap around me like hands.
"Why are you helping me?"
The question hangs. I should have answers—hospitality, good business, the fact that stranded humans on our road create problems. All true.
None of it is the real reason.
"I haven't figured that out yet."
The honesty surprises us both. Her lips part. I watch her throat move as she swallows.
I need out of this room.
"Come on. I'll show you where you're sleeping."
The guest room sits at the end of the east corridor, away from the noise, window overlooking the cove. I push open the door. Let her pass. Catch another wave of her scent as she brushes by.
She takes in the space—clean sheets, simple furniture, bathroom through the far door. Better than most motels. Surprise flickers across her face, she wasn't expecting it to be so nice.
"Towels in the closet." I pull one from the shelf, hold it out. "Water runs hot in about a minute. Anything you need, there's an intercom by the door. Push the button and someone will come."
She takes the towel but doesn't move toward the bathroom. Just stands there, clutching it against her chest, looking up at me.
"Thank you." Her voice cracks on the words. "I don't—you didn't have to do any of this. Stop for me. Bring me here. You don't even know me."
"You needed help."
"Most people would have kept driving."
I don't know what to say to that. She's right. Most humans would have. Most monsters too.
She takes a breath, and something shifts in her face. The exhaustion is still there, but underneath it—curiosity. Her gaze traces my jaw, my mouth, moves up to my tusks and lingers there.
Her hand lifts toward my face. Stops halfway.
