“What happened to yours?”
I glance up as if I can see anything. My hair is probably a mess…
“I have people coming today so you need to hide, or something,” I say.
His head snaps in my direction and his eyes open to slits. He looks so snakelike, so feral. “You would invite outsiders intomy hoard.”
“My shop!” I retort. “This is.My. Shop.”
He stands in one fluid movement and I turn, putting my back against the half-deflated air mattress. He steps between the towers of books, and something moves behind him—a fluttering of torn paper hung between wires.
No, not paper.
Wings.
They spread wide as he approaches me, engulfing my vision.
“You will not bring others into my sanctuary,” he growls, low and threatening.
He can’t hurt me. He can’t.
Fuck, but it looks like he can. His hands are flexed, showing off every sharp claw. His lip is pulled back over his fangs, and his once milky golden eyes swirl with black so deep it swallows the light.
“Yes, I will,” I whisper because my voice seems to fail me. “We need to clean the shop, get it ready for more books.”
He stops before me, towering like a monument of carnal terror. The planes of his body are sharp and jagged with scars, but still far more beautiful than I would like to admit.
“Morebooks?” he asks.
“Thisisa bookshop,” I say with a hint of snark. “I will be stocking it with books to sell.”
“Sell,” he snarls, his claws flexing again. “They will become part of my hoard.”
“Sure, until they’re sold,” I say, regaining some of my voice and composure.
He grimaces, then crosses his arms as his wings flutter, relaxing. They tuck back into him and I feel a bit of relief at seeing the rest of the apartment is still there behind him. Oscar is sitting next to his bowl, patiently awaiting breakfast and giving zero fucks about the danger his mom is in.
Some protector you are…
“How long until there are more books?” he asks.
“That depends on how quickly I can fix the shop,” I say. “And get my business license, and some expanded distribution deals, and a few other factors.”
He chuffs and whirls away toward the altar. “I will allow others into my sanctuary for the express purpose of preparing to expand the hoard, and no other reason. You will not havevisitors.”
I scoff. “Fuck you I won’t.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” he says, taking his seat again.
“That wasn’t agreement. There was no comma between fuck you, and I won’t, Basty Boy,” I say, feeling much bolder now that he’s on the ground and I’m on my feet.
“Basty,” he mutters, his face wrinkled in disgust.
Good, I’m getting to him.
“I’m going to have whomever I want over, and if you try to stop me, I’ll take yourMoby Dickagain.”
He laughs. “And do what? You’ve already shown your love of books runs too deep to ever harm one.”
