Page 39 of Bad Blood Alpha

His last message was to Fletcher. Flynn needed to know if he was alive or dead, why he hadn’t shown up last night, and if his intel on the state of draken politics differed from Israel’s.

Even if you trusted someone, that didn’t mean their intel wasn’t incomplete. Or just plain wrong.

Chapter 15

When Kira woke, Flynn was already gone. He’d cleaned up the room, too—taken away her bloody clothes and towel. For some reason, that made her feel warm inside, like he was looking out for her.

Or maybe he was just a neat freak.

She found more clothes in the closet—leggings that were too short, and another giant t-shirt. She felt like Goldilocks in the Three Bears’ house, looking for something that fit her just right.

Something besides Flynn.

No. She didn’t let her mind go there. He had no desire for a mate, and neither did she. He’d slept with her because…

Because he wanted to? Or he felt sorry for her? Could a man like Flynn have that kind of mind-blowing sex with a woman he didn’t care about?

Or maybe it was only her mind that had been blown.

She’d woken without more visions—that was a good sign. Usually they filtered in just as she awoke, but this time, nothing.

No screams, no nightmares. No magical flares. All her wounds and bruises from last night were healed.

But that didn’t mean she was cured. Was it wrong of her to hope, just a little, that she wasn’t? That last night wasn’t the last one she’d spend with Flynn?

She dressed quickly in the borrowed clothes and concealed a few weapons here and there, intending to see if she could find any coffee before she went out to the truck to get the rest of her things. She really needed to go shopping. Traveling light was one thing, but with the number of fights she was getting into, pretty soon she wouldn’t have anything of her own left to wear at all.

She opened the bedroom door and recoiled back, reflexively pulling her knife from the sheath strapped to her leg under the t-shirt. “Hell on toast!”

Lying on a Welcome mat right in front of her door was a dead squirrel, its eyes closed and its front paws crossed over its chest in some bizarre imitation of a knight on a medieval tomb. It was also covered in blue and green glitter.

She heard a suspicious burst of laughter from the kitchen.

What the actual fuck?

Flynn appeared at the end of the hallway. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, sure,” Kira snapped. She impaled the creature on her knife and raised it in the air. “Does this mean breakfast is served?”

Flynn rolled his eyes. “Xander!” he yelled.

An overly innocent “Yes?” floated back. Kira stalked down the hall, shouldering past Flynn and on into the kitchen. Practically the whole crew was there. They all paused in what they were doing: Jasmin breaking eggs into a bowl; Brody draining the grease from a cookie sheet full of bacon; Sloan grating cheese. The others were scattered around the dining area, drinking coffee—except for Lissa, who was drinking tea and looking a little green.

Kira brandished the squirrel at Xander, glitter showering down.

“Is it Fuck with the Princess Day, or what?”

Xander said, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just sorry that poor creature happened to expire on your doorstep.”

“And brought its own Welcome mat. How enterprising. I suppose it rolled itself in glitter, too?”

“They do that.” Xander cocked his head. “Or maybe Sloan did it, and left it for you as a little gift. His kitty can be so mushy sometimes.”

“Fuck you,” Sloan said, but there was a gleam in his eye that made Kira suspect he’d been in on this particular prank. “And you might want to stop waving that thing around,” he said to Kira. “Once glitter gets in the corners and crevices, it never ever comes out.”

“Not even for the apocalypse,” Caitlyn added. “I keep telling you people. Mushroom cloud, nuclear holocaust, and then nothin’ but cockroaches and glitter.”

Sloan nodded. He said to Kira, “Check out the front porch of our trailer, if you don’t believe us.”