Page 53 of Ignited

He saw the smile curve her face. “I’ll get back to you when I decide.”

So they watched hockey, and Vampire Diaries, and all of Boomer’s other favorite shows. They didn’t talk about the night he’d first brought her here, the sex and the feelings and everything.

Because that had just been her needing something to hold onto, right? And maybe she thought he was kinda hot, and maybe she’d want to do it again.

But now they had this new, intense, protective thing going on, and she needed him in a different way. He didn’t know if he wanted it to be just about that—about being something to hold on to.

Maybe he wanted it to be about him.

Karisma hated being so weak. Hated it with a tigery passion. Boomer did everything he could to make it easier for her, and she appreciated that. She did. She was continually astounded at all the ways he found to make her confinement a little bit less heinous.

But she still hated it—hated the weakness, and the inactivity, and the helplessness. Sometimes in the middle of the night she’d wake up panting and sweating, dreaming her enemies were right outside the door and she couldn’t move, couldn’t get away.

That she was taken and caged again.

She’d lie there, her heart pounding, until Boomer shifted in his sleep and put his arm around her. Like he knew, even when he wasn’t awake, exactly what she needed.

He made her feel safe, and also more scared, deep down inside. Because it was never safe to count on anyone being there forever. Never safe to put yourself in someone else’s hands.

She knew that better than anybody.

She knew for sure how pathetic she was when the very fact that she was strong enough to walk to the living room and sit on the couch instead of in bed was a cause for celebration.

Boomer insisted on preparing a feast, which didn’t go as badly as it might have, since it mostly involved reheating all the food his friends had brought by and stuffed into the refrigerator.

She’d resorted to watching cooking shows, in the hopes that she’d learn something and not have to eat Boomer’s cooking after the pity food ran out. Sometimes Boomer even watched them with her.

Once she’d graduated to the couch, Boomer decided he should help her make friends, and announced that he’d invited some people over that evening.

“You didn’t invite the rabbit, did you?” she said. “Because I think she’s still plotting my demise on account of me maybe possibly almost trying to eat her.”

“It will give you a chance make up with her,” Boomer said. “She’ll be okay. Madison’s good people. And anyway, Cisco and Matéo tried to eat her once, and she forgave them.”

“What about her mate? The guy with the gun? He doesn’t look like the forgiving type.”

“No, that’s true. But Sanchez hates pretty much all of us, so you’re not alone.”

Luckily, the first people to arrive at their tiny party were Breanna—the woman who’d made all the chocolate chip cookies and half the rest of the food in the fridge—and her mate Switch, who Boomer had told her was a helicopter pilot and electronics expert, and had helped him program RoomBubba.

“Don’t say anything about Bubba during the party,” Boomer told Switch as he walked in. “Cisco and Matéo are going to be here, so I hid him in the bedroom closet.”

On top of the Barbie box. Karisma hoped he didn’t absorb any excess magic.

Breanna put down the cookies she was carrying and gave Boomer a big hug. He shrugged uncomfortably. “You keep doing that lately,” he grumbled to her, even though he looked pleased. “What do I need so many hugs for?”

Breanna rolled her eyes. “Because someone you care about is hurt, dork. It’s called emotional support. And I brought more cookies. And other food.”

“Now that’s what I call emotional support.”

Karisma liked Breanna right away. She was gorgeous—like, supermodel gorgeous—but not all snotty and full of herself, like women who looked like that usually were.

She had a way of drawing people in, until most of the party was gathered around where Karisma sat on the couch, laughing and joking and telling her and Boomer the latest stories about the Roomba wars that had started recreation center.

Boomer’s friend Dealer was just finishing a story about how some of the wolves had stolen another guy’s Roomba fighter, and he’d taken his remote all over the compound pushing the button and yelling for the Roomba to come out.

“The guys who took it spent a whole day smuggling it from one building to another right behind him, so he kept just missing it. It was fucking hilarious.”

Cisco and Matéo looked at each other, their brains obviously percolating with an idea. “We should do that,” Cisco said. “To find the bastard who stole RoomBubba. Only, we’d widen the remote signal so it covers the entire compound, and they couldn’t hide him from us.”